







J i 












[ 



THE SECRET 
EQUEST 




Hi 



CHRISTIAN MEID 



THE LIBRARY OF THE 

UNIVERSITY OF 

NORTH CAROLINA 







THE COLLECTION OF 

NORTH CAROLINIANA 

ENDOWED BY 

JOHN SPRUNT HILL 

CLASS OF 1889 



C813 
R35se 



This book must not 
be taken from the 
Library building. 



Form No. 471 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 



THE 
SECRET BEQUEST 



BY 

CHRISTIAN REID 

AUTHOR OF " THE LIGHT OP THE VISION," "a CHILD OP 
MARY," "FAIRY GOLD," "vERA'S CHARGE." "HIS 

victory," "philip's restitution," 
'the coin of sacrifice," etc. 




tkke em mmm 

NOTRE DAME. INDIANA, U. S. A. 



Copyright, 1915. by 
D. E. HUDSON, C. S. C. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE dusk of a spring evening was making deep 
twilight in the large basilica-like church of the 
Paulists in New York, lending a shadowy remote- 
ness to the lofty roof and pillared aisles, while bringing 
out with exquisite effect the radiance of the ever- 
burning light within the sanctuary, which brightened 
in steadfast glow as the obscurity deepened. Here 
and there throughout the church a few devout wor- 
shippers were kneeling; but it is doubtful if to any 
one of them the spell of the place and the hour appealed 
with a deeper sense of its spiritual and poetic charm 
than to a girl who sat quietly in one of the seats near 
the door. 

Yet, had any one observed her entrance a short 
time before, it would have been apparent that she 
was not a Catholic; for she made no reverence to 
the altar, nor knelt even for a moment before dropping 
into a seat. But her quietness breathed a respect 
that was almost devout, as she sat, motionless as a 
statue, with an air of absorbing the influence of the 
wonderful stillness and silence which surrounded her. 
Now and again she sighed softly, as one sighs who 
feels weariness yielding to a consciousness of rest and 
peace; and but for the deepening shadows it might 
have been seen that all the lines of her face were 
relaxing from the strain of the day. Her very immo- 

[5] 



8£i034 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

bility was expressive of an attitude of the spirit in 
which it asks only to lie passive and be acted upon, 
drawing in refreshment from some source of infinite 
tranquillity. 

Presently one of the kneeling figures rose, genu- 
flected toward the altar, and silently as a ghost passed 
out. Thus roused to a recollection of the lapse of 
time, the girl rose also, hesitated, and then, as 
if constrained by some power too strong to be resisted, 
bent her knee in recognition of the Presence that dwelt 
behind the golden doors on which the distant lamp- 
light gleamed, and, turning quickly, hurried from the 
church. 

On the steps outside she paused for a moment, 
while the contrast between the ineffable quiet of the 
church she had left and the turmoil of the traffic- 
filled avenue struck her with a force she had hardly 
ever felt before. Almost unconsciously to herself, she 
had been for a brief space so far away, in regions of 
thought and feeling so remote from the world into 
which a step had now again brought her, that the 
scene of hurrying tumult seemed as unreal as it was 
discordant with her mood. She was smitten with a 
sudden sense of the strange difference between these 
two worlds, so far apart, yet touching so closely, and 
acting and reacting one upon the other through a 
thousand channels. Her eyes had for an instant the 
rapt look of one to whom a vision was revealed; but 
time was not allowed her for further meditation. A 
distant sound, rising above the noises of the street, 
warned her of the approach of a train on the elevated 
road. She fled hastily to the near-by station, ran 
up the stairs, and, breathlessly enough, found herself 

[6] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

a few minutes later clinging to a strap in a crowded 
car. 

It was a very familiar position to one whose daily 
work carried her up and down these avenues of the 
narrow, congested city during the "rush hours" of 
morning and evening. Taking it, therefore, as a matter 
of course, she stood, steadying herself, with the ease 
of long practice, to the movement of the train, and 
gazing absently over the heads of a row of seated 
men before her, when, somewhat to her surprise, one 
of these suddenly rose and offered her his seat. With 
a murmured word of thanks, she dropped into the 
vacant place, conscious of a great sense of weariness 
from her long day's work; and, as she leaned back 
and closed her eyes, something in her pale, tired face 
arrested the attention of the man who had surrendered 
his seat. 

He had succeeded to her strap; and so standing, 
with his tall, heavy figure swaying slightly, he stared 
down at her until the magnetism of his steady regard 
lifted the lids from a pair of leaf-brown eyes, which 
unexpectedly glanced up at him. Thus detected in 
staring with apparent rudeness, he colored and looked 
away quickly; but the girl who had met his eyes only 
smiled a little. In her life among the working throngs 
of the great city, she had learned too much to make 
a mistake in reading a man's looks; and she knew 
that in the gaze she had encountered there was nothing 
of admiration, offensive or otherwise, but only an 
intent scrutiny, as of struggling recognition. "Does 
the man think that he knows me?" she wondered. A 
very brief observation convinced her that she did 
not know him; and, although his bodily presence 

[7l 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

continued to stand in front of her, she dismissed him 
from her mind, until, on leaving the train when her 
station was reached, she found him behind her. 

There was nothing in this to attract attention; but 
the fact that he followed her as she turned from the 
avenue into the street on which she lived, began to 
seem rather more than accidental. And she was quite 
sure that it was more when he appeared immediately 
behind her in the vestibule of the house she entered. 
Without a glance at him, however, she was about to 
pass on her upward way, when he stepped quickly 
forward, took off his hat and spoke. 

"I think I can hardly be mistaken," he said, in a 
voice full of the inflections as well as the courtesy of 
the South. "Am I not addressing Miss Trezevant?" 
"Yes, I am Honora Trezevant," the girl answered, 
pausing and measuring him with a cool, level gaze. 
"But I don't know you," she added with concise 
directness. 

"No, you don't know me, for the very good reason 
that you never saw me before," the stranger replied, 
with a smile. "My name is Maxwell." He produced 
and handed a card to her. "I am a lawyer from 
Kingsford, North Carolina, the old home of your family; 
and I have come to New York specially to see you." 
"To see me!" Honora Trezevant lifted eyes full 
of astonishment from the card she had received. "For 
what purpose?" 

"For a very agreeable purpose," Mr. Maxwell 
answered genially, — "to inform you that you have 
inherited a fortune." 

"17" She regarded him incredulously. "From 
whom?" 

[8] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"From your cousin, Mr. Alexander Chisholm, of 
whom no doubt you have heard." 

"I have heard of him, yes" (her delicate, dark 
brows drew together as if such hearing had not been 
altogether pleasant), "but I can not conceive it possible 
that he should have left me a fortune, or anything 
else, for that matter." 

"Nevertheless, he has done so," Mr. Maxwell said 
positively. "If you will permit me to accompany you 
to your apartment — you live here, do you not? — I 
can have the pleasure of giving you full details." 

"Oh, certainly! Will you come up with me?" 
she said hastily. 

As they went upstairs together — the house con- 
tained no elevator — she glanced at him critically, and 
took in the full impression of his highly respectable 
personality: that of a middle-aged, professional man, 
with a shrewd, pleasant face, kindly though keen 
eyes, and a certain note in manner and appearance 
which differentiated him from the type of men with 
whom her daily life associated her, and recalled a 
type to which her own father belonged. She felt her 
heart warm toward him as, notwithstanding a consider- 
able avoirdupois, he mounted lightly enough beside her. 

"Will you tell me how you knew me at once?" 
she asked. "My name is not printed on my face." 

"You think not?" He laughed. "I found it 
printed there quite plainly. Are you not aware that 
you are strikingly like your father?" 

"I have been told so," she answered. "But I 
didn't know that the likeness was so strong that I 
might be recognized by it. Was that why you were — 
er— " 

[9] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Staring at you in the train? Yes. The likeness 
struck me as soon as I looked at you; but I couldn't 
be sure enough to risk speaking until you turned into 
this house, of which I had the address. Then I felt 
certain of making no mistake." 

"It's a little strange that you should remember 
my father so well," she said. "He has been dead five 
years, and it was ten years before, that he left home." 

"He wasn't a man one could easily forget," Mr. 
Maxwell replied. "We grew up together, and I not 
only knew him very well, but I was also much attached 
to him. He was a very brilliant and lovable man, 
you know." 

"Yes, I know," she said with an accent of sadness. 
"But here we are! I hope the stairs haven't tired you 
very much." 

"Oh, not at all!" he assured her, though conscious 
of some shortness of breath, and much satisfaction 
that there was not another flight to mount. 

"You see, one gets a better apartment if one 
doesn't have to pay for luxuries, such as elevators and 
buttoned pages," she explained, while she fitted her 
latchkey into the door which faced them on the 
landing. 

As it opened, a voice from within spoke fretfully: 

"O Nora, have you come at last? What on earth 
has made you so late?" 

Then, over the shoulder of the girl before him, 
Mr. Maxwell saw another girl, standing in the door 
of a brilliantly lighted room that opened on the hall 
into which they entered, — a slender, graceful girl, 
with an arrestingly beautiful face, crowned by a 
splendid mass of copper-tinted hair, which the light 

fio] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

behind was turning into a nimbus about her head. 
Her petulant expression changed to one of astonishment 
as she caught sight of the tall, masculine figure follow- 
ing Miss Trezevant, who said quietly: 

"This is my sister, Mr. Maxwell." And then, 
"Cecily, Mr. Maxwell is from Kingsford, and he has 
brought us some very surprising news." 

"I hope it is good news," Cecily Trezevant re- 
marked, as she drew back so that the visitor could be 
ushered into the room, in the door of which she had 
been standing. 

It was a pleasant and (for a New York flat) rather 
spacious room, which extended across the front and 
full width of the apartment; and it was furnished 
in a manner which would have gone far to reveal the 
past history of its occupants to the man who entered, 
if he had not already been aware of that history. For 
the few pieces of richly carved old mahogany, which 
were mingled with some inexpensive modern furniture; 
the family portraits on the walls; a desk bookcase 
with latticed doors, behind which showed the mellow 
leather of fine old bindings; and the Oriental rug 
on the floor, which, though worn in spots, was still 
full of rich, subdued color, were all eloquent, not only 
of past prosperity, but of a culture and refinement 
stretching back through generations. 

And what the old mahogany and family portraits 
indicated was to be read even more clearly in the 
appearance of the two sisters; for race and inherited 
culture had set their unmistakable mark upon both, — 
on the pale, sensitive face of the girl who had sat in 
the twilight in the church of St. Paul the Apostle, with 
its soft brown eyes contradicting, as it were, the 

["J 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

resolution of the firmly chiselled mouth and chin; 
and in the exquisite, flower-like beauty that in its 
high-bred type made Cecily Trezevant look like a 
princess very ineffectually disguised. It was not sur- 
prising that Mr. Maxwell's gaze rested on the latter, 
as he sat down on the wide, old-fashioned sofa, with 
its cover of softly faded chintz — for men's eyes were 
always attracted by Cecily — and it was her remark 
that he answered: 

"I think that I am quite safe in assuring you that 
what I bring is good news," he said. "I have come 
to inform Miss Honora Trezevant that she has in- 
herited the bulk of the estate of my late friend and 
client, Mr. Alexander Chisholm." 

'You mean," Honora interposed, "that we — my 
sister and myself — have inherited this estate?" 

Mr. Maxwell shook his head. 

"I mean precisely what I have said," he replied. 
"You are the sole residuary legatee. Your sister's 
name is not mentioned in the will." 

'Why not? Why should such a distinction have 
been made between us?" 

'That I can not tell you. If you knew Mr. Chisholm, 
you must know that he seldom gave an account of his 
actions to any one." 

"I didn't know him. I never saw him but once, 
when I was a small child; and I hardly remember 
him at all, except that he struck me as a — very dis- 
agreeable old man." 

Mr. Maxwell smiled. 'You evidently impressed 
him more favorably," he said. "He was a man who 
forgot nothing, and who often made up his mind 
about people from slight indications of character. He 

[12] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

has given good proof that he discovered something 
in you that won his approval." 

"I still don't see why Cecily should not have been 
included — " 

"Don't waste time in wondering over that," Cecily 
broke in. "It's enough that one of us has inherited 
a fortune; and I must say for Mr. Chisholm that he 
showed his good sense in selecting you to be the one. 
Who was he exactly, by the by? I seem to have 
heard of him all my life, but I don't know anything 
about him." 

"He was our father's cousin," Honora told her. 
"And I can't forget," she added, "that when papa 
was struggling with the business difficulties which 
finally killed him, he asked Mr. Chisholm for assist- 
ance — and was refused." 

"Perhaps it was remorse for that which made 
him leave his fortune to you," Cecily suggested. 

But at this Mr. Maxwell shook his head again. 

"No," he said decidedly. "Nothing of that kind 
influenced him. He never took risks in business, and 
therefore he would not help your father; for he knew 
that his situation was hopeless. I'm sure he only 
congratulated himself on his refusal to do so when 
the final crash came." 

'Then, if it wasn't remorse, what did make him 
leave his fortune to Honora?" Cecily inquired. "We 
are only his distant cousins. Hadn't he any nearer 
relations?" 

"Oh, yes, he had at least one nearer relative!" 
the lawyer answered. "It has always been supposed 
that his grandnephew, Bernard Chisholm, would 
inherit his estate." 

[13] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"And why didn't he inherit it?" 

"Because he angered Mr. Chisholm deeply by 
changing his religion." 

"By what?" Cecily's voice could hardly have 
expressed greater surprise if he had said, by changing 
his shoes. 

"By entering the — er — Roman Catholic Church," 
Mr. Maxwell explained. 

"How extraordinary!" Cecily ejaculated; while 
before Honora's mental vision there suddenly rose the 
picture of a dusky church, wrapped in unearthly quiet, 
where before a distant altar a lamp burned with steady 
radiance, like the love of a faithful heart. She seemed 
to have grown paler as she looked at the lawyer with 
expanded eyes. 

' ' Do you really mean that the young man of 
whom you speak was disinherited for no other reason 
than that?" she asked in a low tone. 

"There was no other reason that I am aware of," 
Mr. Maxwell answered. "Mr. Chisholm was very 
much attached to Bernard, and made no secret of his 
intention of making him his heir, until he was 
alienated by this ill-judged change of faith." 

"It may have been ill-judged, but it was at least 
honest and disinterested, since he has lost a fortune 
by it," the girl said. "And of course," she added 
quickly, "I shall not accept the fortune which was 
forfeited for such a reason. I will restore it to him." 

"Honora!" Cecily gasped — but before she could 
say anything more, Mr. Maxwell spoke, with a rather 
inscrutable smile. 

"That is very good of you, my dear young lady!" 
he said. "But I must tell you that it is altogether out 

[14] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of your power to do anything of the kind. Mr. 
Chisholm has effectually prohibited such an action." 

"How?" she asked sharply. 

"By stating explicitly in his will his reason for 
passing over his grandnephew, and by further pro- 
viding that no one who belongs to or enters the Roman 
Catholic Church shall inherit or hold any part of his 
estate." 

Honora put her hand to her throat, where at this 
moment her heart seemed to be beating. 

"Then," she said, "if one who did inherit or hold 
any part of his estate were to see reason to change 
her religion, she would forfeit everything by the act, 
just as this young man has done?" 

"Exactly," Mr. Maxwell assented, "if the religion 
adopted was the Roman Catholic. There is no pro- 
hibition against any other. You can" (he smiled 
indulgently) "become a Christian Scientist or even 
a Buddhist, if your taste lies in that direction; but 
you must not go to the Pope. I trust that you have 
no intention of doing so," he added. "In fact, I am 
bound, as executor of the will, to ask an assurance of 
the kind from you." 

"How utterly absurd!" Cecily exclaimed. "Mr. 
Chisholm was surely a survival of a type of two or 
three centuries ago. Who in these days cares enough 
about religion to make sacrifices for it?" 

"Apparently Mr. Bernard Chisholm does," Honora 
said. Then she met the lawyer's eyes with a full, 
clear glance. "You want an assurance that I am not 
a Catholic?" she asked. "It is easily given. I am 
not." 

"Well, that's the only condition of your inheriting," 

[15] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

he told her cheerfully; "so you'll let me congratulate 
you very warmly on the large fortune you have come 
into. Mr. Chisholm began life with only moderate 
means; but he was one of the men who have a 
positive genius for making money. Whatever he 
touched prosperec. And he touched pretty nearly 
everything in our part of the country — banks, factories, 
mines, railways. Consequently he accumulated a very 
large estate." 

"And does it all come to Honora?" Cecily asked. 

"There are a few minor bequests," Mr. Maxwell 
replied, "but the bulk of the estate is bequeathed 
to her." 

"And how much does it amount to?" 

"That's rather difficult to say at present; but 
certainly not less than a million dollars, and perhaps 
a good deal more." 

"A million dollars!" Cecily's eyes shone like stars. 
"O Nora, did you ever dream of such marvellous 
good fortune coming to us?" 

"Never," Honora answered, with an accent so 
grave that Mr. Maxwell looked at her curiously. 

"You are not so much elated as your sister," he 
remarked. "Yet you know such a fortune will give 
you power to order your life as you please, and to 
do many things that you must have desired to do." 

"I shall realize that after a while, no doubt," she 
answered; "but just now I can think only of the man 
who has lost what I have gained." 

"You are not responsible for his loss, and you 
should not let it shadow your pleasure in your 
inheritance." 

"You certainly should not," Cecily agreed em- 

[16] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

phatically. "Mr. Bernard Chisholm must have counted 
the cost of what he did, and therefore he is not entitled 
to compassion." 

"It would be the last thing he would ask, I am 
sure," Mr. Maxwell said. "He has taken his loss in 
a very fine spirit; and you'll let me remind you that 
it is better for a young man to have his own way to 
make in the world than for a gently-bred girl." 

Honora glanced involuntarily at the beautiful face 
of her sister, and caught her breath, as if at the 
lifting of some dark shadow of fear. 

"You are right," she said then. "It is better. 
And I will not think any more of what I can not help, 
but only be grateful for the good fortune which has 
come to us." 

The lawyer nodded approvingly. 

"That's the proper way to regard it," he said. 
"Now a few words on business. I had to come to New 
York to find you, because no one in Kingsford could 
give me your address; and I've had some trouble 
here in getting it, or I should have seen you earlier. 
But, now that I've found you, I want to know when 
you can come down to North Carolina. There are 
many things connected with the estate to be settled, 
and the presence of the owner is absolutely necessary." 

"I can go in a few days," Honora replied. "I 
will give up my position to-morrow— I've been working 
as a stenographer in a business office, you know, — 
and then we have only to arrange to leave this apart- 
ment, see about our furniture — " 

"And do some shopping for our personal needs," 
Cecily reminded her in an admonitory tone. 

"Ah, yes!" Mr. Maxwell assented. "You will of 

[i7] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

course have various expenses to meet, and no doubt 
you'll wish to draw some money for the purpose. 
To-morrow I shall put five thousand dollars to your 
credit in bank — " 

"Five thousand!" Honora gasped. "Oh, that is 
much more than will be required!" 

"Perhaps so, and perhaps not," he replied, with a 
smile. "You must understand that you have now 
a large income to spend. I'll bring you a check-book 
to-morrow — or perhaps you'll meet me down-town, 
where I can introduce you at the bank; and you and 
Miss Cecily will then, I hope, do me the honor of 
lunching with me?" 

"We'll be delighted," Cecily responded before her 
sister could speak. "Just tell me where we are to 
meet you, and I'll see that Honora is there on time. 
To be introduced to a bank account is far too interest- 
ing an experience to be deferred." 



[18] 



CHAPTER II. 

AFTER their visitor had gone, the two sisters 
looked at each other for a moment in speech- 
less wonder. Then — 

"Pinch me!" Cecily cried, holding out her arm. 
"Make me sure that I'm not asleep and dreaming! 
Oh, can it be true, do you think, — can it be really 
true that anything so astounding as this has happened?" 

"Mr. Maxwell is certainly very real," Honora 
answered. "And he wouldn't have been likely to come 
to New York in search of us — " 

"Of you, you mean." 

"Well, of me — if there had been any doubt of 
the inheritance." 

Five thousand dollars deposited in bank certainly 
sounds very convincing," Cecily conceded. "But 
when one thinks of a million, and remembers what 
we have been living on — you, poor dear, slaving at a 
typewriter in that dreadful office down-town, for 
fifteen dollars a week, and I earning a few pennies by 
putting a little paint on cards and fans, so that the 
shops can ask a high price for them as 'hand-painted' — 
the contrast is so great that no wonder my brain is 
reeling." 

"Try to steady it by thinking of the happiness 
it will be to leave this city of struggle and tumult and 
go home, where people have time to possess their souls 

[19] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

in quiet, where they think of something beside money, 
and where one can rest, — rest as long as one likes." 

"I don't want to rest," Cecily declared. "I want 
change, pleasure, excitement. I want to live, not 
merely exist; and Kingsford doesn't commend itself 
to me as exactly the place for that." 

"You don't know anything about Kingsford," 
Honora reminded her. "You were hardly more than 
a babv when we left there." 

J 

"I know what all places of the kind are like," 
Cecily returned. "And, for me, I want the world." 
(She opened her arms wide, as if they were wings with 
which she might fly.) "I want to go everywhere, to 
see and do and taste everything, now while I am young. 
One is young only such a little while; and I've been 
afraid, desperately afraid, that I should grow old 
before I could live." 

The elder sister's eyes filled with tears of sheer 
emotion as she looked at the beautiful young creature, 
panting on the threshold of life for all that youth 
desires so ardently; and realized with a thrill of 
pleasure, poignant as pain, that it was in her power to 
satisfy those desires. It seemed incredible, but it was 
true: the greatest power on earth, that of money, 
had been placed in her hand; and Cecily could have 
all that she longed for — before she grew old. 

"You shall have everything that you want, — every- 
thing!" Honora told her passionately. "You don't 
know how I have suffered in not being able to give 
you anything you've wanted hitherto." 

"You've given me shelter and food and clothing," 
Cecily said, "and that was more than satisfying my 
craving for things as far beyond my reach as the sky 

[20] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

is beyond the earth. I should be an ingrate of ingrates 
if I ever forgot it. But now we are both going to have 
all that we want, and be happy, — oh, so happy, you 
dear darling!" 

She flung herself upon her sister. Demonstrations 
of affection were not usually much in Cecily's way; 
but this was an occasion which opened the floodgates 
of feeling even with her. And for a minute they 
laughed and cried together in each other's arms. 
Characteristically, Cecily recovered composure first. 

"You deserve good fortune, if anybody in the 
world ever did," she said, patting the shoulder under 
her hand, as she drew back. "I've a higher respect 
for Providence since this has come to you, and an 
immense gratitude toward old Mr. Chisholm. It's a 
pity one can't do something to show one's gratitude 
to him. The Catholics he seems to have hated so 
badly have an advantage over us in that respect: 
they can pray for their friends and benefactors after 
they are dead. Of course it's more than likely that 
the prayers do them no good ; but they are a satisfaction 
to the living, anyway." 

"I believe they are more than that," Honora said; 
"and I shall certainly pray for him." 

"Oh, but you mustn't! He would hate it." 

"Not where he is, I think. He has probably learned 
by this time how foolish his hatred was." 

"Then he must be a very uncomfortable old gentle- 
man in realizing how he has treated his nephew for 
no other cause than that he became a Catholic." 

If it occurred to Honora that perhaps the late Mr. 
Chisholm had more reasons for being uncomfortable 
than his treatment of his nephew, she did not express 

[21] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the thought. And after an instant Cecily went on 
meditatively : 

'What an extraordinary young man that must be! 
I have a great curiosity to see him, haven't you?" 

"No," Honora answered decidedly; "for I shall 
feel as if I had robbed him." 

"But you know that you've done nothing of the kind. 
It was no fault of yours that Mr. Chisholm left his 
fortune to you." 

"I'm not so stupid as not to understand that. 
But it's an uncomfortable thing to take somebody 
else's inheritance; and I wish I might at least share 
it with the man to whom it should rightfully be- 
long." 

"But you can't (Mr. Maxwell made that quite 
clear), so what is the good of letting your mind dwell 
on the matter? Always try to forget what you can't 
help. That's my philosophy. I absolutely refuse to 
let things worry me, even when they are my own 
troubles; and I'm certainly not going to worry over 
the troubles of Mr. Bernard Chisholm, which he has 
brought on himself." 

"By following his conscience." 

"Oh, nonsense! I've no patience with people who 
make themselves and others uncomfortable by what 
they call following their conscience. They are always 
conceited, narrow-minded, and tiresome; setting them- 
selves up to have a higher standard than anybody 
else. Now, why couldn't this young man have kept 
quiet about his Catholic proclivities, let his uncle 
die in peace, and then have done what he liked? That 
would have been sensible." 

"And do you think it would have been honorable?" 

[22] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Why not? He had a right to his own opinions, 
hadn't he?" 

"Undoubtedly. But he didn't have a right — in 
honor — to take his uncle's money, knowing that he 
would never have left it to him if he had been aware 
of what he meant to do." 

"I may be obtuse, but I don't see why not," Cecily 
said carelessly. "It's luck for us, however, that he 
had your point of view rather than mine. And now 
we needn't discuss him further." She made a gesture 
dismissing Mr. Bernard Chisholm from the conver- 
sation. "Our own affairs are so much more interesting. 
Let us begin at once and make a list of the things we 
must get to-morrow. Only think" (she fairly shivered 
with delight) "of being able to get whatever we want!" 

It was to Cecily, at least, such an absorbing 
matter, the making out of that list; the growing 
consciousness of the possession of money with which 
to purchase all that her needs and taste demanded 
was so new and enchanting, that hours went by 
unheeded; and it was after midnight when Honora 
found herself at last in her small chamber alone. 

Then she sat down, and, with her head in her 
hands, tried to realize the astounding change which 
had come to her. In its suddenness and its unexpected- 
ness, it was certainly calculated to make the brain 
reel, as Cecily had said. For she had never any more 
imagined the possibility of such an inheritance than 
of finding herself the occupant of a throne; could 
never have conceived it possible that the wealthy old 
cousin, who had refused to help her father in his dire 
strait of financial difficulty, would even remember her 

{23} 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

existence, much less consider her as a possible heir 
for his large estate. Why had he considered her? 
His reason for discarding the nephew who had been 
so close to him, was explicitly stated; but why should 
the keen man of business have selected, out of a wide 
family connection, a girl whom he did not even 
know? 

The mystery of such a selection seemed to Honora, 
with her knowledge of the world, altogether inexplic- 
able; since she was quite sure that Mr. Maxwell was 
right in saying that remorse for having withheld the 
assistance which might have saved her father's credit 
and his life had nothing to do with it. In the creed 
of men like Mr. Chisholm, business was something 
altogether apart from human feeling; and he would 
not have felt himself accountable in any degree for 
the bankruptcy and death of the cousin he had declined 
to aid. Why, then, in looking for an heir, had he 
thought of that cousin's daughter, the girl whom he 
had not made the faintest effort to help during the 
five years in which she had borne on her young shoulders 
the entire burden of family support, had seen her 
mother sink under sorrow and privation, and follow 
her father to the grave, and whose gallant struggle 
sufficed only to keep her own and her sister's head 
above water in the pitiless whirlpool of New York? 
How much it would have meant to her — a word of 
sympathy, a little help — in the terrible days of which 
even yet she could hardly bear to think! But no such 
word or help had been forthcoming; and now, when 
she had won for herself a foothold, small though it 
was, a fortune of a million dollars was tossed into her 
lap. Again, what did it mean? Why had the old 

[24] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

man, called away from all his great possessions, chosen 
her to assume their burden? 

An instinct that he had a reason for this choice, 
which would presently be revealed to her, made her 
suddenly remember that, as Mr. Maxwell was leaving, 
he had drawn from his inner breast pocket a long blue 
envelope, which he handed to her, saying: 

"I've brought you a copy of the will, which you 
can read at your leisure. Perhaps you had better 
glance over it before I see you to-morrow; and — er — 
you'll find a letter there also, addressed to yourself." 

In the excitement of the moment, she had hardly 
grasped the meaning of the last words. But now they 
recurred to her, charged with a certain significance 
of tone and expression. At the time she had taken 
for granted that the letter spoken of was from him- 
self — some statement about the property probably, — 
but now she knew otherwise: now she felt sure that 
it had been written by Mr. Chisholm, and that in it 
she would find the mystery of her inheritance explained. 

With a quick movement she sprang to her feet. 
She had laid the envelope away without examination 
when she went to. the desk to make out Cecily's list. 
That list had seemed at the moment much more im- 
portant than reading the will which gave her the 
power to make it; but now the conviction was borne 
to her that nothing could be more important than 
the letter which lay awaiting her in the long blue 
envelope she had thrust so carelessly into a pigeon- 
hole. 

A step carried her into the sitting room, which 
her chamber adjoined; a touch switched on the light, 
and a moment later she sat at the desk, with the 

[25] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

envelope before her. As she opened it, and drew out 
the paper which it contained, she was conscious that 
her heart was beating painfully. "The last will and 
testament of Alexander Chisholm," — so much she 
saw at a glance as she unfolded the paper. But she 
read no more; for within it lay a letter, sealed with 
wax, and addressed to herself in a handwriting she 
had never seen before, — a cramped and somewhat 
tremulous, but very clear writing, which conveyed 
a singular impression of force of character. 

It was with a feeling as if some emanation from the 
spirit of the dead man reached her, that she broke 
the seal of the envelope, noting the Chisholm crest 
upon it as she did so, and took out the folded sheet 
within, which his hand had touched last. The con- 
striction about her heart increased. What would she 
find that he had written? What conditions would 
he perhaps impose as the price of her holding the 
fortune he had bequeathed to her? Her thoughts 
flew to Cecily; and, with a sickening fear of dis- 
appointment, she opened the letter, where the same 
clear, forcible writing met her gaze; and found that 
it began very simply, as follows: 

"My dear Honora: — I address you in this manner 
not only because we are cousins, and you are a young 
girl while I am an old man, but also because I have 
never forgotten the impression you made upon me 
when I chanced to see you some sixteen years ago, 
just before your father made his ill-advised move to 
New York. Possibly you have forgotten the meeting, 
but I remember it well; and it has struck me more 
than once that there must have been something quite 

[26] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

uncommon about the child who could so impress herself 
upon my memory. I knew that I had not been mis- 
taken in this judgment when I heard of the manner 
in which you took charge of your family after your 
father's death. It was a hard struggle no doubt, and 
a severe test of character and ability; but without 
such a test you could not have proved yourself, and 
I would not have conceived the idea of entrusting 
you with a great responsibility. 

"After the crash in your father's fortunes, and es- 
pecially after his death, I expected to receive an appeal 
for help from you (as the richest man of a large family 
connection, I have had many such appeals from others 
with much less to justify them), and I was ready to 
respond if you had made this appeal. But you did 
not make it; and, knowing how you were situated, 
my respect for you increased, as well as my interest in 
learning how you would acquit yourself in the struggle 
you had undertaken. You will wonder perhaps if I 
had at this time any thought of making you my heir. 
I had none at all; but I was interested in you for 
the reasons I have given; and I like pluck, good sense, 
and an independent spirit. 

"This is a necessary preface to explain why I have, 
in the will which I have just signed, selected you as 
the inheritor of my estate, and why I am now writing 
you this letter. Both are curious things to do; but if 
you do not understand the motives which have led 
me to do them (after I have made these motives clear), 
you are not the person I have taken you to be. It 
is rather strange that I should feel an assurance that 
you will understand, though I have never seen you 
except as a large-eyed, thoughtful-looking child. But 

[27] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

I do feel this assurance, together with a sense that I 
am safe in trusting you, — which is even more strange, 
for life has not given me much encouragement in 
trusting people. 

"Briefly, then, having reached an age at which I 
must face the necessity of laying down all that I have 
spent my life in gathering, and go empty-handed into 
the great darkness, leaving to others the fruits of my 
long labor, it is necessary that I should find an heir 
to inherit my estate. Up to the present time I have 
thought that I had found one in the person of my 
nearest relative and natural heir, my grandnephew, 
Bernard Chisholm. But circumstances have arisen 
which have made it impossible that I should carry out 
my intentions with regard to him. He has defied my 
wishes, renounced the faith of his fathers, and gone 
over body and soul to the idolatries of Rome. This 
puts it wholly out of the question that I can leave my 
fortune to him, lest any part of it should be spent in 
support of that religion. 

"I gave him warning, when he first spoke to me 
of his intention, that if he carried it out he would 
never inherit a dollar from me. And when he came 
and told me that he had "entered the Church," as 
he called it, I simply tore up before his eyes the will 
which named him as my heir. Having done so, it 
was imperative that I should at once choose another 
heir; for if I died intestate the law would give him 
what I had denied. And then, as if by an inspiration, 
my thoughts turned to you. I liked everything I had 
ever heard of you. I knew you to be capable and 
faithful, that you had been trained in a hard school 
to business methods and a knowledge of the value 

[28] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of money; and I felt a sudden instinct that I might 
trust you, not only with my fortune but with some- 
thing else besides. 

"And this is Bernard. In return for what I am 
giving you — large wealth and the power and ease it 
brings, — I ask that you will make every possible effort 
to draw him from the errors into which he has fallen. 
It seems to me that you are peculiarly fitted to do 
this. You are a young and, I have reason to believe, 
attractive woman; you have proved that you possess 
unusual qualities of character, and more than ordinary 
good sense. These things will be likely to appeal to 
him strongly — for he is not himself an ordinary 
person, — and will give you an influence which I beg 
you will use in the way I have indicated. If he falls 
in love with you, my earnest desire is that you will 
marry him, but not until you have induced him to 
renounce Romanism. Make every use of your influ- 
ence, if you acquire any, to this end. 

"There is nothing on earth so near to my heart 
as that the boy to whom I have always been, and 
am still, so much attached should be reclaimed from 
the infatuation which has taken possession of him, 
and that he shall by some means have the benefit 
of the fortune I have accumulated. But there is no 
way in which this can be accomplished except through 
you. I am, therefore, placing a great trust in your 
hands. And I can give you no reason for doing what 
I desire except that I shall be dead when the power 
to fulfil my wishes comes to you, and that I believe 
my instinct has not deceived me in thinking that 
you are one of those to whom the wishes of the dead 
are sacred. 

[29] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Hoping that you may live long to enjoy the wealth 
I am leaving to you, and that it may be made possible 
for Bernard to share it with you — in which case you 
can show him this letter, which is else to remain a 
secret between us, — I am 

"Your cousin, 

"Alexander Chisholm." 

When she had read the last words of the letter,. 
Honora dropped the open sheet on the desk before her, 
and sat gazing at it as if magnetized. And as she gazed, 
a singular sense of illumination came to her. She seemed 
to be looking into the mind of the writer, and by a clear 
intuition to divine the mental processes which had 
resulted in this strange addendum to an amazing will. 
For what was it but a bequest, not of tangible money, 
but of the soul of a man? And what was the great fortune 
which had been left to her but a means to be used 
to bring about a spiritual change in that soul? She 
saw it all plainly — far more plainly than it was written 
on the page before her, — and, in so seeing, justified 
the belief of the old man who was dead that she would 
understand his motives. 

She did understand them perfectly. There was 
indeed no room to doubt the motives which had led 
him to select her as his heir. He had chosen her, not 
from any kind feeling for herself (though it was true 
that he had carried in his memory a favorable im- 
pression of her), nor from any sj-mpathy with her 
hard struggle against adversity; but because he hoped 
that, by the attractions of her youth and her sex, she 
might be able to exert an influence, which he himself 
had been unable to exert, over the young man who 

[30] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

was his "natural heir," toward whom his heart 
yearned, yet whom he had sternly cut off from his 
inheritance. She was to work upon Bernard Chisholm, 
not through his mind (argument having clearly proved 
as powerless as threats to move him), but through 
his emotions, or his passions; she was to employ 
every feminine art to lead him to "fall in love with 
her," but she was not to marry him unless he would 
first renounce the detested religion he had embraced. 

Yes, it was all extremely plain — and infinitely 
pathetic. The struggling affection, the clutching at a 
desperate expedient to achieve the end so obstinately 
desired, the appeal for help from one so soon to be 
himself utterly helpless, filled the girl with a sense 
of pity as keen as her comprehension was clear. For 
the old man had read her very accurately when he 
discerned in her, even as a child, an unusual capability 
of sympathy, as well as something which assured 
him that she woul dhold as sacred wishes on which 
the seal of death had been laid; and when he felt 
that he could count securely on the high sense of honor 
and the intense conscientiousness which would make 
her recognize that she could not take and enjoy the 
inheritance of wealth bequeathed to her if she did not 
accept the other bequest which accompanied it, and 
do her utmost to fulfil the demand made upon her. 

But how could she possibly fulfil this demand? 
She asked herself the question with a feeling of dismay; 
knowing perfectly that she had no faith to offer 
Bernard Chisholm in exchange for that which had been 
found so objectionable, if he could indeed be induced 
to lay it down at her request. And then, pathetic 
as the letter seemed, she suddenly saw it in another 

[3i] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

light — that of a tremendous bribe and temptation. 
She was given wealth and ease as the price of taking 
away from a man the faith he had made such costly 
sacrifices to hold. How could she make even an 
attempt to do such a thing? Yet, if she did not make 
the attempt, how could she, in honor, accept and 
hold the fortune given her? 

As she asked the last question, a vision of Cecily 
rose before her, — not only of Cecily as she saw her 
last: radiant, smiling, filled with delight at the prospect 
of the fairy-tale prosperity awaiting her; but of a 
Cecily with whom she was more familiar, — an unhappy, 
discontented girl, rebelling against the narrow limits 
of poverty, longing passionately for the pleasures and 
glitter of life, and possessed of a beauty that, allied 
with such a temperament, was neither more nor less 
than a great danger. For, through the ready admi- 
ration of men, it would open to her many doors of 
enjoyment, — doors through which it was easy to walk 
to destruction. 

How often had the elder sister's heart grown cold 
as she realized this when exerting all her influence 
and waning authority to restrain the girl from some 
opportunity of dangerous pleasure! And it was con- 
stantly growing less possible to restrain her. "I am 
perfectly well able to take care of myself," Cecily 
would declare, "and I will have some enjoyment and 
taste of life while I am young." That was the refrain, — 
she must taste life and the delight of pleasure while 
she was young, no matter what the risk involved 
might be. And so the sense of fear had steadily grown 
with Honora. What words, then, could express the 
ineffable relief this inheritance brought her! And not 

[32] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

alone relief from haunting fear, but the power to give 
Cecily all that she longed for — happiness, change, 
excitement, everything dear to the eager heart of 
youth. But the condition on which she held this 
power was now distinctly placed before her; and if 
she hesitated, or failed to observe that condition, had 
she a right to keep what was given for an explicit end? 

The answer was to her mind quite clear: she had 
no such right. If she kept the fortune which meant 
so much to her, which was the key to all the possi- 
bilities of life for Cecily, she must fulfil the wishes 
of the old man who gave it — she must try, as far as 
in her lay, to lead Bernard Chisholm back from what 
his uncle called "the idolatries of Rome." It was 
true that she had no sympathy with the spirit of 
bigotry which this implied; and it was also true that 
she knew herself to be very ill equipped with argu- 
ments for that end. But what was evidently required 
of her was not argument so much as personal influence; 
and such influence, if acquired, she was in honor bound 
to make an effort, at least, to exert against the powerful 
attractions of the Catholic Church. 

And this notwithstanding the fact that she had 
herself felt in some degree the force of those attractions. 
But, she reminded herself, what she had felt was no 
drawing toward dogmatic teaching (of which she was 
profoundly ignorant), but only an emotional appeal. 
And her consciousness of this appeal had come about 
purely by accident, or, as she would have said, by 
chance. Again and again, as she journeyed up and 
down the elevated railway which carried her in the 
morning to her work in the business maelstrom of 
lower New York, and brought her back in the evening 

[ 33 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to the apartment on the upper West Side which could 
by no stretch of imagination be called a home, she 
had gazed, first with curiosity and then with a growing 
sense of fascination, at a massive, cross-crowned church 
by which she was whirled. "It looks like a fortress," 
she thought, when she saw it first; presently she 
added: "It looks like a fortress which might enshrine 
peace." And after a while she stopped one day to 
satisfy curiosity by exploring it, and found that it 
was indeed a stronghold and very fortress of peace. 

Thereafter she came often — dropping off at Fifty- 
Ninth Street on her homeward way, to spend a few 
minutes in the quiet church, where she experienced 
not only rest, but a strange healing, and an infusion 
of fresh courage for her wearied spirit. She had never 
tried (and, in fact, would not have been able) to 
analyze the attraction which drew her to sit for half 
an hour in a twilit building, where nothing was going 
on, only distant lamplight gleaming on a closed door, 
a silence that could be felt, and an indescribable con- 
sciousness of something like a living presence which 
pervaded the hushed stillness and gave it a meaning. 
Why she should have felt so certain of this presence 
she did not know; she had never read a Catholic 
book nor heard a word of Catholic preaching, and 
her ideas with regard to the Church were as vague as 
those of most Protestants. There was no glamour of 
imposing services, of color and lights and music, which 
had drawn her across the threshold of the Church of 
St. Paul the Apostle, — only, as has been said, that she 
found there a place wherein to seek a rest and refresh- 
ment of soul which she had never discovered any- 
where else. 

[34] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

And now she suddenly realized that she must not 
go there again. Of her also, as of Bernard Chisholm, 
sacrifice was demanded if she would inherit the 
Chisholm fortune. She must not dally with the fasci- 
nations of Rome, even though in her case those fasci- 
nations only took the form of the quiet restfulness of 
an ever-open church. But under that restfulness was 
there perhaps a snare, a power which might hypnotize 
the soul and never let it go again? The thought of 
hypnosis occurred to her as she remembered how 
only a few hours earlier, as she was leaving the church, 
she had been led by some subtle influence to bend 
her knee — to what? She told herself that she certainly 
did not believe that there was anything behind the 
tabernacle doors which demanded such an act of 
reverence. Yet she had felt compelled to that genu- 
flection, because it seemed a rude and unmannerly 
thing to withhold it, as if one were to go to the court 
of a king and refuse the homage which courtesy 
required. 

Of course this feeling had only been a matter of 
suggestion: she was saturated with what might be 
called the spirit of the place, and she had also just 
seen a woman make such a genuflection. But if this 
had occurred once, it might occur again; and — it 
might go further. She had been strangely stirred and 
thrilled when she heard of the sacrifice of the young 
man who had preferred to follow his conscience rather 
than to inherit a fortune; and surely this instinctive 
sympathy proved that she, too, had felt, though un- 
consciously, the dangerous attraction of the religion 
which had led him so far from his natural path of 
life. 

[35] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Well, the task set for her was to bring him back 
again to that path; and, whether she succeeded or 
failed, the effort must be made. So, in order that it 
might be made in good faith, she must not again cross 
the threshold of the church of the Apostle who by 
some strange, compelling power (was it in any degree 
like that which forced her to bend her knee?) had been 
cast upon his face on the road to Damascus — nor the 
threshold of any other church where the spell of Rome 
might be felt. This settled, — and she was aware of a 
sense of something lost in settling it — she need give 
no further thought for the present to the strange secret 
bequest which had been left her, in connection with 
a great inheritance. When she went to enter into 
possession of this inheritance, would be time enough 
to consider how best to fulfil the condition on which 
it was clearly intended that she should hold it. Now 
she might put the matter away, and give herself up 
to the wonderful delight of freedom from harassing 
care and distasteful labor, and the greater delight of 
being able to gratify all of Cecily's desires. 



[36] 



CHAPTER III. 

THOSE last days in New York, spent in prepa- 
rations for departure, and a wild orgy of 
shopping, in which Cecily commanded and 
directed fabulous expenditures, always remained dream- 
like in Honora's memory. At the time she had a sense 
of utter unreality, which even the touch of reality 
in drawing checks for large sums of money, which were 
duly honored, was not sufficient to dissipate. And 
this feeling of living, moving, and having her being 
in a dream was intensified when she found herself 
at last alighting from a train in Kingsford. 

For it was a Kingsford as changed as her own 
circumstances. The quiet old Colonial town she re- 
membered, with its reserved and aristocratic air, 
where life flowed in such placid current in old-fashioned 
houses, under great embowering trees, had vanished, 
and in its stead a modern "Progressive" city blazoned 
on every side its determination not to be behind any 
other place in worship of mammon. Hardly a land- 
mark of the past remained, so eager was new Kingsford 
to dissociate itself from anything old; and, if Mr. 
Maxwell had not met her on her arrival, Honora might 
have doubted if she were indeed in the once familiar 
home of her childhood. 

But Mr. Maxwell was there with a well-appointed 



carriage. 



[37 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"You'll probably soon be getting an automobile, 
like everybody else," he said. "But Mr. Chisholm 
clung to his horses; and, since they are yours now, 
I've brought them for you." 

Honora, still engaged in trying to realize that she 
was not dreaming, was driven through unfamiliar 
streets, by blocks of business buildings which she was 
informed were hers, and presently across a bridge 
which spanned the river that flowed through the town, 
where distant factories were indicated with the same 
information. She remembered that on the hills just 
beyond the town in this direction the "best people" 
had always had their homes; so she was not surprised 
when they began to mount the green, wooded heights 
above the stream. But when, after passing several 
more or less ornate dwellings, which spoke eloquently 
of a tide of new prosperity, they came by a winding 
road to an imposing residence of stately Palladian 
architecture, set on a commanding eminence, at sight 
of which Mr. Maxwell announced, "That is the 
Chisholm house!" she was altogether unprepared, and 
for a moment almost incredulous. 

"But this isn't — " she gasped. 

'The old residence? Oh, no!" Mr. Maxwell inter- 
posed. "Mr. Chisholm built this on the site of the 
old house several years ago." 

"But it is charming!" Cecily cried in a high key of 
approval. 'Who would ever have given Mr. Chisholm 
credit for so much taste!" 

'Why shouldn't he have had taste?" Honora 
asked, her wide gaze fastened on the house they were 
approaching, with its note of classic dignity and 
spaciousness, its white columns gleaming against a 

[38] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

sky as blue as that of the Greece or Italy from which 
its style was derived. 

"Well, there's really no reason why he shouldn't," 
Cecily admitted, "except that one thinks of him as 
having been one of the men who exist only to gather 
together dollars, and who have no capability of enjoying 
them. But the man who built this house had such 
a capability, for he spent dollars enough to make 
himself a perfectly delightful place to live. Can it 
be as charming within as without, do you think?" 

"Come and see," Mr. Maxwell told her laughingly, 
as the carriage drew up before a stately, balustraded 
terrace, which made an admirable setting for the 
pillared facade of the house rising above it. 

They were met at the door by a severe-looking, 
middle-aged woman, whom Mr. Maxwell introduced 
as Mrs. Kemp, who had been Mr. Chisholm's house- 
keeper, and "kindly remained in charge of things 
until the new owner came." 

The new owner encountered the keen scrutiny of 
a pair of hard black eyes rather deprecatingly. 

'You can't be more surprised to see me here than 
I am to be here, Mrs. Kemp," she said gently; "but 
I hope we shall get on well together." 

"Oh, as for that," Mrs. Kemp replied stiffly, "I've 
only stayed to look after things, as Mr. Maxwell says, 
until they are handed over to you. Would you like 
to go over the house now, or wait until you've had 
something to eat?" 

"We'll go over it now," Cecily announced eagerly. 
"We've just lunched .on the train, and I'm dying 
to see if the rest of the house is worthy of this fine 
hall." 

[39] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Mrs. Kemp regarded the speaker for a moment 
with a comprehensive gaze; and then, addressing 
Honora pointedly, as she opened a door on one side, 
"Here's the drawing room," she said. 

It was a spacious, beautifully decorated room, 
furnished with a taste at once so delicate and so 
restrained that Cecily, who prided herself on her 
artistic knowledge, exclaimed again with surprise and 
delight. And these sentiments were expressed in an 
ascending scale of approval until astonishment cul- 
minated when, after passing through various apart- 
ments — notably a rich, dark library lined with books, — 
they were introduced into a splendidly proportioned 
music room, containing a grand piano, and a large 
organ built into its end. 

'Why, this is amazing!" Cecily cried, turning to 
Mr. Maxwell. "Was Mr. Chisholm very fond of music? " 

Mr. Maxwell shook his head. 

"I don't think he knew or cared anything about 
it," he replied. 

"And he had no family and no social tastes! Why, 
then, did he spend money in fitting up such a room 
as this — unless it was purely ostentation?" 

'There wasn't a grain of ostentation in him," Mr. 
Maxwell stated emphatically. "He had this room 
included in the plan of the house to please Bernard 
Chisholm, who is very fond of music. Of course when 
he built the house, he expected that it would eventually 
he his — Bernard's, I mean." 

"Oh, I see!" Cecily was silent for an instant, 
staring with bright, meditative eyes at the gleaming 
pipes of the organ. "He cared enough for him to do 
all this for him, and then he cut him off from the 

[40] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

music room and everything else because he dared to 
call his soul his own! What a horridly tyrannical 
old man Mr. Chisholm must have been!" 

"He was rather tyrannical," Mr. Maxwell admitted; 
"but his conscience had some part in the matter, 
too. He wanted to save Bernard from what he- 
considered a dreadful religion, and he believed the 
Romanists got hold of him on account of his prospect 
of inheriting a large fortune. So he was determined 
to disappoint them." 

"How broad-minded and tolerant of him!" Cecily 
commented sarcastically. "Honora, do you hear? This 
beautiful room was built specially for the disinherited 
knight, who is now driven out of it." 

"I hear," said Honora, who indeed must have been 
deaf if she had not heard. "I'm very sorry. I wish 
Mr. Chisholm had left it to him, as he intended." 

"I'm not unselfish enough to wish that," Cecily 
owned frankly. "But I'm sorry, too, for the foolish 
young man — " 

"Begging your pardon, Miss!" (It was an inter- 
ruption so sharp that it made Cecily jump), "there's 
no call for anybody to be sorry for Mr. Bernard." 

"O Mrs. Kemp!" The young lady turned toward 
the speaker, who met her gaze with a look of distinct 
hostility in her snapping black eyes. "How interesting 
that you think there's no need to be sorry for him! 
Is it because you approve of what he's done?" 

"I don't approve of it at all," Mrs. Kemp replied 
uncompromisingly. "I'd be the last to deny that 
he acted very foolish when he threw away all his 
prospects, and almost broke his uncle's heart — though 
nobody would 'ave guessed it who didn't know Mr. 

[41] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Chisholm as well as I knew him, — but all the same, 
there's no need to be sorry for Mr. Bernard; for there's 
no sorrow in him for what he's lost." 

"Then he's the most extraordinary as well as the 
most foolish young man of whom I've ever heard," 
Cecily declared. "I hope he'll come to see us," she 
added, turning back to Mr. Maxwell. "If there's 
no sorrow in him for what he has lost, I suppose he 
doesn't bear malice against Honora for inheriting it." 

"Quite the contrary," Mr. Maxwell answered. 
"He's very much interested in her; and I think you'll 
see him very soon." 

"The sooner, the better for the gratification of my 
curiosity. And, by the by, since he has forfeited his 
inheritance, what does he do for a support?" 

"Oh, as for that, he has some means of his own! 
He inherited a small fortune from his father, and he 
has occupied a very responsible position in his uncle's 
business (Mr. Chisholm left the management of things 
more and more to him of late), which he still holds 
until — er — other arrangements can be made." 

Honora looked at the speaker quickly. 

"Is there any reason why other arrangements should 
be made?" she asked. 

"That is a matter for discussion," he replied 
reservedly. "We'll talk of it, and other matters of 
business, as soon as suits your convenience." 

"I haven't been accustomed to consulting my 
convenience where matters of business were concerned," 
she said, smiling a little. "I am at your service when- 
ever you wish to discuss them." 

"In that case, I'll come to-morrow," he told her 
promptly. "Shall we say at eleven in the forenoon? 

[42] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Very well. Then I'll bid you good-bye for the present, 
and leave Mrs. Kemp to show you all details of the 
place." 

'Tell Mr. Bernard Chisholm to come to see us," 
Cecily said, as he shook hands with her. 

"I'm certain he'll be very glad to come," the lawyer 
assured her — "especially after he has seen you." 

"That's an Irish bull as well as a compliment," 
she laughed. 

"It's a solid fact either way," he returned. 

Several hours afterward the beautiful spring day 
was drawing toward late afternoon when the two 
sisters — having rested, as far as excitement would let 
them, after their inspection of the house — came out 
on the terrace which commanded an enchanting view 
in all directions. Immediately in front, embowered 
in leafy verdure, Kingsford lay, outspread beyond the 
river that flowed through the valley below. On either 
side, the ridge on which the house stood stretched 
above the stream in tree-crowned beauty; while west- 
ward the hills rolled away in green waves toward a 
distant cloud-like line of azure mountains. A thousand 
delicious odors came borne from field and forest on 
the wings of the caressing air; and it was hardly 
wonderful that, struck by a sense of poignant contrast 
with the crowded city streets, the narrow apartment, 
the days of unceasing toil which lay so close behind 
her, Honora should have opened her arms, as if she 
longed to embrace the entrancing picture. 

"How heavenly!" she breathed. "I've never 
dreamed of having, this side of heaven, such a home 
for my very own." 

[43] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"It is heavenly!" Cecily assented. "And I'm 
almost glad that we've been so poor. We couldn't 
enjoy so keenly all that we have now if we didn't 
know the contrast." 

"I always said you were an epicurean" (Honora 
smiled at her), "and that is the sentiment of an epi- 
curean: you are glad to have suffered, in order to 
heighten by contrast the sense of pleasure." 

"I don't mind in the least being called an epi- 
curean," Cecily replied. "For what I've said holds 
good: we couldn't possibly enjoy all this" (she waved 
her hand comprehensively around) "if we had possessed 
it always. The keen edge of enjoyment must be put 
on by contrast." 

"Then — it's a rather startling idea — we should 
lose the keenest form of happiness in the world, if there 
were no suffering." 

"I — suppose so." Cecily looked rather startled at 
her own conclusion. "It's an idea that carries one 
pretty far, doesn't it?" 

"Especially one who has railed at suffering as 
I've heard you so often do." 

"I would rail at it again. I hate, abhor and detest 
it. I would abolish it if I could. And yet I see now 
that the world would lose something if it were abolished. 
We should have no contrast to heighten enjoyment. 
More important, we should have nothing 
'To try the soul's strength on.'" 

"Oh!" (Cecily shrugged), "I care nothing about 
means to try the soul's strength! I care only for en- 
joyment, pleasure, happiness. I could dance and sing 
with delight in the sense of freedom from care and 
poverty, in the consciousness of being able to spread 

[44] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

my wings as far and as wide as I like. You see" (she 
looked at her sister with brilliant, laughing eyes), 
"I'm taking for granted that the fortune you've come 
into is mine as much as it's yours." 

"You know that it is," Honora told her. 

"Yes, I know; and therefore, although I've talked 
of feeling sorry for that foolish young man, Bernard 
Chisholm, I'm really tremendously glad that he acted 
as he did. Honestly now, aren't you?" 

"I — don't know," Honora confessed. "My feelings 
are so mixed that it's hard to analyze them. I am 
dreadfully sorry for all he has lost — though perhaps 
one shouldn't be sorry for a person who has been able 
to do so heroic a thing, — but I can't be sorry for having 
the fortune, with all the ease it brings, and the wonder- 
ful possibilities it opens." 

"You would be a fool indeed if you were sorry," 
Cecily said frankly. "But I'm wondering if it won't 
be awfully hard to him to see some one else — you, 
in short — as owner in the house that was built for 
himself?" 

"So hard, I'm afraid, that I wish I might meet him 
anywhere else. I shall feel myself an alien and intruder 
in his own home." 

"That's utter nonsense, as I've pointed out to you 
several times already. You know that you are neither 
the one nor the other. But it must be a trying position 
for him, and I'm curious to see how he will bear himself. 
If he takes a martyr pose, I shall despise him." 

"I don't think it likely that he will take such a 
pose if one may judge from what Mr. Maxwell and 
Mrs. Kemp have said of him." 

"O Mrs. Kemp! Weren't you amused when she 

[45] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

so suddenly spoke up for him in the music room? She 
was evidently quite fierce at the idea of his being 
regarded as an object of pity." 

"Whatever else he may be, he isn't an object of 
pity. I'm quite certain of that," said Honora. 

And as she said it, a young man mounted the 
terrace steps and stood before them. 



46] 



CHAPTER IV. 

THERE were in reality two young men, but one 
of them lingered so far behind the other that 
neither of the two girls observed him for several 
minutes. Their attention was fixed on the figure which, 
after an instant's pause, advanced toward them — a 
lithe, slender figure, with a face so attractive, even 
at first glance, that, in words uttered long ago by a 
shrewd judge of men, it was "a letter of recommen- 
dation." We have all seen faces now and then which 
make this instantaneous impression of a delightful 
personality. It is not always possible to define the 
charm of such a countenance, — a charm which may 
be felt even in the passing encounter of strangers in a 
crowd, for it resides chiefly in expression; but the 
expression which would redeem a plain face can render 
a handsome one irresistible. And the face of this 
young man was extremely handsome, with features 
which showed in their clear-cut lines the impress of 
a vivid spirit, keenly alive to all fine issues; with 
smiling lips above a firmly-moulded chin, and hazel 
eyes full of light, under dark, level brows. Easy and 
graceful of bearing, he came forward, and spoke in a 
voice as pleasant as his aspect. 

"May I introduce myself?" he asked. "I am 
Bernard Chisholm, and I suppose I have the pleasure 
of seeing Miss Trezevant and — " 

[47] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"My sister, Cecily." Honora indicated by a 
gesture the bearer of that name, and then held out 
her hand with eager cordiality. "I'm very glad to 
know you," she said. "It's extremely kind of you to 
come to see us so soon." 

"I am delighted to be allowed to come," the young 
man replied. "I should hardly have ventured to come 
so soon, if I hadn't met our friend, Mr. Maxwell, who 
encouraged me to do so. And I was glad to be 
encouraged, since I was anxious to welcome you, and 
offer my most sincere congratulations on your return 
to your old home." 

"You are very kind," Honora murmured again, 
conscious of a sudden feeling that Mr. Maxwell had 
been right when he spoke of the "fine spirit" with 
which Bernard Chisholm was taking his great loss; 
for surely nothing could have less expressed any sense 
of loss than his tone and manner, or the friendliness 
which looked from his handsome eyes. But, hardly 
knowing what else to say, while she hesitated, she 
became aware of the approach of another young man, 
who as he drew near remarked: 

"Since you've introduced yourself, Bernard, suppose 
you now introduce me?" 

"Oh, yes!" Bernard turned. "For the moment I 
had forgotten you. This" (he addressed Honora) "is 
my cousin, Julian Page, who was so anxious to make 
your acquaintance that he insisted on coming with 
me." 

"That's not a very nice way to put it," Mr. Page 
complained; "but I can't deny that it's true. I did 
insist on coming, and I felicitate myself on having 
done so." He looked at Cecily as he spoke. "But I 

[48 1 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

don't think," he added injuredly to Bernard, "that 
you should have claimed me so exclusively as your 
cousin. I beg to remark that I'm the cousin of these 
ladies also." 

"We are all cousins, aren't we?" Honora asked, 
smiling, as she shook hands with him. "I haven't 
been out of the South so long as to have forgotten how 
extensive the family connection is." 

"But I don't know anything about it," Cecily said. 
"So won't somebody please enlighten me as to the 
degree in which we are related?" 

"A pretty far degree, I'm afraid," Bernard Chisholm 
told her. "But a slight relationship goes a long way 
with us, you know. I believe our great-grandfathers 
were brothers — or perhaps brothers and sisters." 

"A great-grandfather who was also a sister would 
be a very remarkable kind of an ancestor," Mr. Page 
observed. "But never mind! The relationship is the 
point; and there's no doubt about that, whether it's 
on the male or the distaff side, as they say in the old 
countries. I think that's such a picturesque manner 
of expressing female descent; but I don't suppose 
modern women care to be reminded of the time when 
the distaff was the symbol of their sex." 

"I don't see why not," Cecily said. "Distaffs 
are picturesque implements, and industry is not to 
be despised." 

"Judging by some present utterances, they wot^ld 
prefer to have been brandishing battle-axes," the young 
man laughed. 

He also was decidedly attractive, though lacking 
the peculiar charm and fine distinction which charac- 
terized Bernard Chisholm. His rather irregular face 

[49] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

expressed humor and intelligence in equal degree, and 
his gray eyes had the keenness that often accompanies 
the artist vision. There was something of the artist 
in the way he was staring at Cecily now, and certainly 
Cecily was very well worth staring at. Her beauty, 
always sufficiently striking, was accentuated by excite- 
ment — which acted like wine upon her temperament, — 
and enhanced by a toilette of latest fashion. Both 
sisters were wearing black; for Cecily had seen at 
once that Honora was right in suggesting that they 
owed this respect to the old man who had so richly 
endowed one, and thereby benefited both of them. 
But there is black and black, as all women are aware; 
and Cecily's charming gown had, except in its hue, 
no hint of mourning, while Honora' s dress distinctly 
expressed it. 

Bernard Chisholm's glance noted this, at the same 
time that she noted the black band he wore on his 
arm; and she said to herself again that it surely showed 
a fine spirit, to wear so conspicuously a badge of 
mourning for the uncle who had disinherited him. 
Meanwhile they had all turned toward a spot where 
some chairs were placed under an awning; and Ber- 
nard, walking across the terrace by Honora's side, said: 

"I hope you like this house. I had a good deal to 
do with choosing its details, and I shall be glad if they 
please you." 

"How could they fail to please me?" she asked. 
"The house, and everything about it, seems to me 
quite perfect. I was saying not long before you came 
that it's such a home as I never expected to possess 
this side of heaven, and it is like a dream to me still 
that I do possess it." 

[50] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I'm delighted that it isn't a dream," he said. 
"My uncle didn't tell me his intentions further than 
they concerned myself; and I was afraid to hear what 
disposition he had made of this place, as well as of his 
fortune. When I did hear, I was tremendously pleased; 
and, if you won't mind my saying so at this early 
stage of our acquaintance, I am more than ever pleased 
since I have seen you." 

"I don't mind your saying anything," Honora 
replied. "But you make me feel as if you were pouring 
coals of fire on my head; and coals of fire aren't very 
comfortable, you know, however kind and generous 
the intention of the pourer may be." 

"But why on earth should you feel that way?" 
he inquired, with evident astonishment. "Coals of 
fire are supposed to be poured by somebody whom 
one has injured, and you have certainly not injured 
me." 

"Not intentionally—" 

"Not at all!" he interrupted. "Do put such an idea 
out of your head. I can hardly tell you how little 
foundation there is for it. I am not injured, — not in 
the very least. I had a clear choice offered me, and 
I consider myself immensely the gainer by what I 
chose. Meanwhile you are the gainer by what I have 
lost; so it seems to me that congratulations are in 
order all around." 

"I think," Honora said — and paused to stare at 
him — "that you are the most extraordinary person I 
have ever seen or heard of. I can't believe that you 
are just talking for effect — " 

" I assure you that I'm not," he interposed. "Talking 
for effect is not one of my vices." 

[51 I 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Then you really mean that you are to be con- 
gratulated on the loss of the inheritance you have 
been brought up to consider your own?" 

"I really mean it," he answered. "But perhaps I 
shouldn't have expressed myself in exactly that manner; 
for of course you can't be expected to understand what 
it is that I have gained. So you'll just let me say that I 
consider it a positive inspiration on the part of my 
uncle to have looked over the whole family connection 
for an heir and to have pitched upon yourself. I didn't 
know that he had any vein of romance in him; but 
I think now that he must have had, — at least he has 
done a delightfully romantic thing in leaving his fortune 
to you. Why, when I came up on the terrace a few 
minutes ago and saw you, with the house behind you, 
I thought I had never seen anything so positively 
ideal as the combination." 

His eyes were laughing as they looked at her, but 
laughing in such kindly and evidently admiring fashion 
that she could not but smile in sympathy, even while 
it occurred to her to wonder what he would think if he 
knew the real reason which had led Mr. Chisholm to 
select her as his heir. 

"I'm glad you thought the combination ideal," she 
said. "But, since we are talking so frankly, you must 
let me say that I don't find it at all ideal that the 
rightful heir should be dispossessed. In fact, I've felt 
so unhappy over it that it has almost spoiled my 
pleasure in the marvellous fortune which has come 
to me." 

'That was tremendously good of you," he said 
earnestly; "but you mustn't feel so any more. For 
I'm really not 'the rightful heir.' My uncle had 

[52] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

a perfect right to leave his fortune as he liked." 

"Oh, a legal right no doubt, but not a moral right!" 

"Yes, every right. Please believe this, and put 
the idea of any injury to me out of your mind. Do you 
know," he added, "that the chief reason why I've 
been so prompt in seeing you has been that I might 
give you this assurance? Most people wouldn't need 
it; but there must have been some telepathic com- 
munication between us, for I've been afraid that you 
might feel something of the kind." 

"Why should you have been afraid?" she asked. 

Again she felt the kindness of his eyes like 
sunshine. 

"Because it would detract in some degree from 
your enjoyment of the good fortune that has come 
to you," he answered. "And it seems a pity that that 
should be detracted from at all. You can never have 
such another moment, you know — never again step 
out of poverty into wealth in the flower of your youth, — 
and you ought to enjoy it to the full." 

She did not tell him again that he was an extraor- 
dinary person, but the thought was strongly present 
in her mind, for surely it was extraordinary that he 
should look at the situation so sympathetically as it 
regarded her: that he should realize so clearly that 
indeed there could never be such another moment in 
her life, and desire that she should enjoy it to the 
full. 

'You don't know how deeply I appreciate the 
generosity of your attitude," she said in a low, eager 
tone. "There are so few people who would feel as 
you do about yourself, or who would understand how 
I feel with regard to that matter or — with regard to 

[53] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

other things. For you are right in thinking that this 
is a wonderful change to me, — so wonderful that I 
can hardly realize it yet." 

"I know that it must seem like a fairy tale," he 
said, smiling. "But fairy tales come true sometimes, 
you see. And, whether it was from inspiration or 
knowledge, my uncle has done not only a romantic 
but, I believe, a. wise thing in leaving his fortune to 
you. Do you know that Mr. Maxwell, who went to 
New York in a spirit of darkest pessimism, returned 
enthusiastic over the poise and admirable calmness 
you displayed under what must have been a tremendous 
shock?" 

"I'm glad that he thought I displayed those 
qualities," she said. "But one is sometimes calm 
because one is stunned." 

"Don't do yourself injustice, Nora," said Cecily, 
who in the interval of her conversation with Julian 
Page had caught the last remark. "It is not necessary 
for you to be stunned in order to be calm. You are 
really never anything else, and it's frequently quite 
exasperating." 

"Bon sang ne petit mentir," observed Mr. Page, 
complacently. "Our common great-great-grandfather 
was no doubt a person of fine poise. See the result! 
One descendant loses and another gains a fortune 
with equal high-bred composure. Here's Bernard, 
who positively hasn't turned a hair under the process 
of disinheritance." 

"Don't be an idiot!" Bernard told him, and then 
he looked at Cecily, whose eyes were dwelling on 
himself with unmistakable interest. "I hope you like 
this place as much as your sister does," he said. 

[54] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I find it absolutely charming, both inside and 
out," she replied. "I was immensely surprised at 
first, not having given Mr. Chisholm credit for so 
much good taste as everything implies; although, as 
Honora remarked, there was no reason why he shouldn't 
have had taste — " 

"Only he didn't," the irrepressible Mr. Page broke 
in again. "It was something he had never thought 
it worth while to cultivate; and he was a wise old 
gentleman, who knew his limitations. So when he 
decided to build this house, he left all the details to 
Bernard — whom he intended to have it, you know, — 
and Bernard was sensible enough to consult me." 

"Oh," Cecily laughed, "he consulted you! And 
why, please?" 

"He happens to be an artist," Bernard explained, 
"and I found many of his suggestions very useful 
indeed." 

"An artist!" Cecily turned toward the other eagerly. 
"Why, how delightful! I'm an artist, too — at least 
that's what I've wanted to be, and all my friends in 
New York were of the artist-colony; so I know a great 
deal about art, if I don't succeed in doing very much. 
But how on earth do you come to be in Kingsford?" 

"Your tone," Mr. Page remarked, "suggests an 
unfavorable opinion of Kingsford, which I regret to 
hear. It is a place which offers a fine field for the 
cultivation of an art spirit in the inhabitants; and, 
incidentally, my family live here." 

"Nevertheless, an artist must feel dreadfully out 
of place in a provincial town." 

"Oh, hush, hush!" he remonstrated in a tone of 
acute distress. "It would cut Kingsford to the quick 

[55] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

if it heard itself spoken of as a provincial town; and 
then—" 

"It might revenge itself by cutting me? That 
would be a tragedy." 

"There's not the least danger of Kingsford cutting 
you under any provocation," the young man assured 
her. "Society is on tiptoe with eagerness to see and 
know you both. And you'll kindly understand that 
it's not at all because you've inherited a great deal 
of money — " 

"I haven't inherited a penny," Cecily said. "The 
sooner Kingsford knows that, the better." 

"Do you suppose Kingsford doesn't know the 
contents of the Chisholm will as well as you know it?" 
he inquired. "Why, it was the sensation of the hour 
when we heard how the estate had been left. There 
was not one of the related clans — Chisholms, Pages, 
Trezevants, and the rest — who hadn't some faint hope 
of being selected as the heir after Bernard turned 
Papist, and, figuratively speaking, cut his own throat — " 

"Upon my word, Julian," Bernard interposed, 
"I think this conversation is becoming disagreeably 
personal." 

"I'll make it a little more personal by stating that 
there were some people who even thought / had a 
chance," Julian proceeded calmly. "I wasn't one of 
them, however, for I knew perfectly well that Cousin 
Alex, as the older generation called him, would never 
leave his stocks and bonds and factories to a fellow 
who dabbled in paints." 

"But he didn't appear to object to Mr. Chisholm's 
liking for music," Cecily remarked, glancing at Bernard. 
"We've seen the music room, and heard how it came 

[56] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to be built," she said, addressing him with a charming 
smile. 

"He wasn't really narrow-minded at all — except 
on one subject," the young man told her quickly. "I 
can never forget how kind he was about that music 
room. But I must protest," he added, "that I hardly 
know myself as ' Mr. Chisholm ' — at least when I am 
among relatives, and we are all relatives." 

"I'm quite willing to say, Bernard," Cecily answered 
readily; "but you set the example of formality, with 
your 'Miss Trezevant,' you know." 

"I couldn't exactly come up and call you by your 
Christian name, when I'd never seen you before, could 
I?" he asked, appealing to Honora. 

"It would have taken a good deal for granted, I 
think," she replied, smiling. "But now, since we are 
cousins — " 

"Don't leave me out!" Mr. Page exclaimed. "I'm 
as much a cousin as Bernard is, and I want to be 
allowed the rights of cousinship, too." 

"They are yours," Honora told him with gentle 
graciousness. "We have felt like strangers, Cecily and 
I, though we were coming back to our birthplace; 
and it is pleasant to meet two kinsmen at once." 



[57] 



CHAPTER V. 

AFTER matters had thus been put on their proper 
basis, as Mr. Page expressed it, the four young 
people soon fell into easy intercourse, — so 
easy that Honora began to wonder more than ever 
if she were not dreaming, and if the young man 
talking and laughing so light-heartedly before her 
could be indeed the dispossessed heir she had dreaded 
to meet. Certainly she had been right in thinking 
that there would be nothing of a martyr pose about 
him; but she was hardly prepared for an attitude 
that seemed to suggest an almost buoyant satisfaction 
with things as they were. It was hard to believe that 
this attitude was not the result of conscious effort; 
and yet it was impossible to detect a sign of effort, 
a single trace of regret in manner or appearance. 
Julian Page was not more free from anything of the 
kind. Altogether, she found herself strangely puzzled, 
and also strangely interested, by this "disinherited 
knight," as Cecily called him, who had assured her 
with such an accent of sincerity that he regarded 
himself as an object for congratulation rather than 
condolence, in view of what he had gained rather than 
of what he had lost, — yet who was so entirely a normal 
young man of the present world, with no suggestion 
of other- worldliness about him. 

She was still absorbed in these considerations, and 

f58] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

rather absent-mindedly bearing her part in the light flow 
of conversation, when Cecily presently glanced at her. 

"I'm wondering," she said, "if we couldn't order 
some tea served? Mr. Page — I mean Julian — tells me 
that afternoon tea isn't a common usage here, unless 
people are entertaining — " 

"Receptions or club-meetings, or something of that 
kind," Julian airily explained. 

"But we are accustomed to it," Cecily went on; 
"and I think it would be a becoming rite of hospitality 
as well as a refreshment. So if you think I might 
venture to tell Mrs. Kemp to send us some out — " 

"I'll go and see about it," Honora said, rising, — 
conscious that she was rather glad of an excuse to 
leave the group for a few minutes, in order to recover 
her bearings. 

But she was not prepared for the step which quickly 
followed her, nor for finding Bernard Chisholm at 
ber side as she entered the house. 

"I hope you don't object to my coming with you," 
he said. "It has occurred to me that perhaps I can 
make things easier for you with Mrs. Kemp — I don't 
mean about the tea, but matters in general; — that is, 
if you would like to keep her in her present position. 
I can assure you that she is an admirable housekeeper, 
and thoroughly trustworthy." 

"I should like very much to keep her," Honora 
said. "I shall have so many things to claim my 
attention, for a time at least, that I could hardly take 
proper charge of the house. But she has indicated very 
clearly that she has no intention of staying. She 
evidently regards me as an interloper, whom it would 
be beneath her dignity to serve." 

[59] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Oh, I don't think she has any such idea as that!" 
the young man said, answering her smile. "But 
you must allow for the fact that a woman of her age 
and character, who has had a very free hand in serving 
a man, is averse to coming under the orders of another 
woman. And, then, of course I can't deny that she is 
a strong partisan even where partisanship isn't called 

for." 

"You mean that she is a strong partisan of yours, 
and thinks you badly used. That's very plain. But 
she might remember that I have no responsibility for 
what she resents." 

"It's asking rather too much, I'm afraid, to expect 
people of the type of Mrs. Kemp to remember things 
of that kind. But she really is a good, though somewhat 
forbidding soul; and it would be better that she should 
stay with you until you are fairly settled in your new 
life. So, if you don't object, I will try to persuade her 
to do so." 

"Instead of objecting, I'll be extremely obliged." 

"Then shall we find her? She is generally in her 
own sitting-room near the kitchen." 

"You are really very good," Honora said gratefully, 
as they proceeded in that direction. 

"Oh, I know her so well that I couldn't refrain from 
offering my services to assist in managing her!" he 
answered, laughing. 

It was the familiar sound of his laughter that made 
Mrs. Kemp look up with a start, to see the two young 
figures standing together in the door of her pleasant 
sitting-room, with its air of homely comfort and extreme 
neatness. There was a sewing machine at the window 
which looked out over the green spaces of the garden; 

[60] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and from this she rose, pushing her spectacles up, the 
better to take in the astonishing sight before her. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Kemp!" Bernard said 
cordially. "Miss Trezevant has come to ask you to 
send some tea out on the terrace; and I've come to 
say how glad I am that she has you to help her in 
the process of settling down to her new responsibilities. 

Mrs. Kemp surveyed the speaker for a moment 
with a glance in which were mingled affection and 
disapproval, together with much surprise. Then— 

"I don't suppose Miss Trezevant's in any need 
of my help in settling down," she said dryly; "and I 
haven't thought of staying, Mr. Bernard, as you must 
know." 

"But Miss Trezevant hopes that you will, and I 
hope so too," he pleaded, with a very winning tone 
in his voice. 

"I certainly hope so," Honora hastened to add in 
a tone hardly less winning. "You will oblige and help 
me very much, Mrs. Kemp, if you'll stay. I know that 
of course you don't like the change in things — " 

"I'm not one," Mrs. Kemp stated, "for new people 
and new ways." 

"But new people and new ways are sometimes 
inevitable, just as change is inevitable in human life," 
Honora reminded her. 

'There's some changes that shouldn't have took 
place," Mrs. Kemp returned. "I can't reconcile myself 
to injustice, if I must speak plain; and I don't intend 
to try to do so." 

"My dear, good soul — ■" Bernard began quickly, 
but Honora stopped him by a gesture. 

"Please let me speak," she said. And then, taking 

[61] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

a step nearer to the stiffly erect figure by the sewing 
machine, she went on eagerly: "I sympathize and 
agree with you entirely, Mrs. Kemp. Injustice has 
been done — an injustice to which I find it as hard to 
reconcile myself as you do, — but we are neither of us 
accountable for it; and I am sure you are too just 
to visit upon me what is no. fault of mine." 

"I'm well aware that it's no fault of yours that 
you are in Mr. Bernard's place," Mrs. Kemp conceded. 
"But, all the same, I can't see my way to staying — " 

"You will!" Bernard interrupted. "You'll do it 
to oblige me, I'm sure. As Miss Trezevant has just 
reminded you, it's not her fault that she's here; on 
the contrary, it's clearly my fault — " 

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Kemp sniffed, "I'll never deny 
that there's fault enough on your side!" 

"Then don't you see that I have an obligation to 
help Miss Trezevant in a difficult position? (It's very 
difficult to come so suddenly into a lot of money and 
new responsibilities.) So I expect my friends to stand 
by me, and help her, too. Now, I've no better friend 
than you, and therefore, I want you to stay with her." 

Mrs. Kemp turned and faced Honora. 

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked directly. 
"I'm old-fashioned, and I don't know anything about 
the new ways you'll want to set up." 

"I do want you to stay, very much," Honora 
assured her. "And, as for being old-fashioned, I like 
old-fashioned people and old-fashioned things; and I 
shan't want to introduce many new ways — " 

"Only a little tea just now," Bernard reminded 
her. 

"Yes," she said. "We like tea in the afternoon; 

[62] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

so will you please send some out on the terrace, where 
my sister and Mr. Page are? I suppose you — er — know 
how to serve it?" 

"I'm not likely not to know how to serve a cup of 
tea," Mrs. Kemp remarked stiffly. "We've the best 
Chinese, for Mr. Chisholm always drank it; and one 
of the maids has lived with some people who have this 
tea-drinking habit in the afternoons; so I'll send her 
out with it. Now you can both go back if you like, 
and your tea'll follow soon." 

Thus dismissed, and again laughing together, they 
took their departure from the sitting-room, which so 
perfectly expressed its occupant's character, as the 
rooms in which people live mostly do express their 
characters; and followed a passage which led back 
to the handsome central hall, where they had entered. 
Here Honora paused, and turned toward Bernard. 

"I want to thank you," she said, "for the kindness 
which has made you settle this matter for me, and 
settle it as no one else could have done; for Mrs. Kemp 
would not have consented to stay for anybody but you. 
And I want to know if you were really in earnest when 
you said that you feel an obligation to help me in the 
difficult position in which I am placed?" 

"When you know me better," he told her, "you 
won't think it necessary to ask such a question. I 
couldn't be other than in earnest in saying that I feel 
an obligation, and equally an inclination, to help you 
in a position in which you have to face so many new 
responsibilities." 

"I'm glad you realize them," she said, "and that 
you feel the obligation of which you speak. For it 
gives me courage to ask that you will be good enough 

[63] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to continue to fill the position which Mr. Maxwell 
tells me you hold at present in connection with your 
uncle's business." 

She looked at him appealingly as she spoke; and 
he, leaning back against the large carved table which 
occupied the centre of the hall, did not reply for an 
instant, while considering her with his bright, clear 
glance. 

"I think," he said at length, "that I have never 
heard anything more gracefully and diplomatically 
put. You are offering a benefit under the form of asking 
a favor — " 

"No, no," she interrupted eagerly. "It is purely 
a favor that I am asking. For don't you see how 
exactly it is as you've said — that I am in a very difficult 
position, with great business interests of which I know 
nothing, — and that really and truly I need all the 
help I can get?" 

"You can rely upon Mr. Maxwell." 

"Mr. Maxwell can't do everything and be every- 
where, and he tells me that your uncle had such confi- 
dence in you that you have practically had charge of 
everything." 

"Oh, no! That's a mistake, though of course I've 
had charge of a great deal; and I shall be glad to help 
you in any way short of retaining — " 

"But that's just it," she broke in. "It mustn't 
be 'short of retaining.' I want you to retain the 
position — I really don't know exactly what it is — which 
you have held; for it is only in that way you can help 
me, and prevent my feeling dreadfully about taking 
your inheritance— if you really care about that." 

"I do care very much," he assured her. "And I 

[64] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

must remind you again that you have not taken my 
inheritance. Can't you understand that the matter 
was put up to me as a clear-cut issue? My uncle said 
in a few plain words, 'I'll never leave my money to a 
Roman Catholic. If you enter that Church you won't 
inherit a penny from me. So make your choice.' I 
made it, and he kept his word, as I expected him to 
keep it, and that's all. I haven't the faintest ground 
for complaint, if I were disposed to make any; and 
you haven't the faintest reason for 'feeling dreadfully' 
on the subject, as I've already tried to make plain to 
you." 

Again she felt the sincerity which emanated from 
him, which was expressed in every tone of his voice, 
every line of his face; and her own face was full of the 
wonder in her mind. For it was one thing to think 
and speak abstractly in admiration of such a sacrifice 
as he had made, and another to have its meaning 
brought home to her, as she looked at him, standing 
in the rich setting of the beautiful hall which should 
have been his, where every detail bore the impress 
of his taste, and which he had forfeited because he had 
chosen — what, after all, had he chosen that was worth 
the price he paid? Impulsively she spoke her thought 
aloud: 

"It can't be possible that you don't regret your 
choice now!" 

There came a sudden flash into the handsome eyes 
regarding her, which was like the opening of a door 
into the soul. She seemed to catch a glimpse of unutter- 
able things, of some strange secret joy that leaped up 
and for an instant revealed itself; and then the smile 

[65] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

she had already learned to know shone again in the 
hazel depths. 

"It is quite possible," he told her simply. "I not 
only don't regret it in the least, but I should feel myself 
a very contemptible person if I did regret it. For what 
is more contemptible than ingratitude? I think" (his 
smiling eyes seemed reading her as he spoke) "that 
you understand this." 

"About ingratitude being contemptible — oh, yes!" 
she answered. "But about your attitude, I confess I 
don't understand that altogether. I wish" — she paused, 
and then felt driven on by a compelling impulse, — "I 
wish you would tell me what it is exactly that you 
have gained which outweighs so much the very tangible 
things you have lost?" 

He shook his head, and now the smile came about 
his lips also. 

'You mustn't tempt me to begin telling you that," 
he said; "for it would lead us very far, and open — 
you've no idea how many avenues of discussion it 
would open. I should have to talk on a subject which 
is as wide as life, and as far-reaching as eternity; and 
that really wouldn't do — not at least when we are 
just beginning our acquaintance." 

" But you will later, when we are better acquainted? " 
she urged; and added, coloring quickly. "Perhaps I 
ought to apologize for pressing a personal inquiry. But 
you know you have done such a very remarkable thing 
that I must feel interested, and — and more than a little 
curious to hear you explain it." 

"It's natural that you should be curious," he 
said; "and I suppose it does seem to you, as to others, 
that I have done an extraordinary thing. But to me 

[66] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

it seems the most simple and obvious thing imaginable, — 
so simple and obvious that there is little or nothing 
to explain. Whatever there is, however, I'll try and 
explain to you some day — if you are still interested." 

"Oh, I shall certainly be interested!" she assured 
him. "There are many reasons why I shall like to 
know whatever you care to tell me about what has 
influenced my life, as well as yours, so deeply." 

"Yes, it has influenced yours very deeply," he 
agreed; "but I like to think that it has only been in 
the direction of good." 

It was a surprise to herself that she hesitated before 
answering this, — that a sudden doubt obtruded itself 
into her mind. Only a little while before, she had 
declared that the wonderful prosperity which had 
come to her was like a fore-taste of heaven. Why, 
then, was she suddenly conscious of misgiving, of 
wondering what its ultimate end might be? And why 
did she feel a thrill, not of compassion but of some- 
thing closely resembling envy, as she looked at the 
man who had so cheerfully embraced a great oppor- 
tunity of sacrifice, and declared it "the most simple 
and obvious" thing to do? 

"I have certainly gained immensely by what you 
have lost," she said at length. "But we don't know 
the end of anything, do we? There are great tempta- 
tions as well as great responsibilities in wealth, you 
know." 

"I think you will meet the temptations and dis- 
charge the responsibilities in the right spirit," he told 
her kindly. 

She met his eyes with a great wistfulness shining 
in her own. At this mometn she felt intensely conscious 

[67] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of some deep reserve of strength in him, on which she 
longed to call. 

'You haven't told me yet that you'll help me 
with regard to the responsibilities," she said: "that 
you will consent to keep your present position in 
connection with the business, or any other position 
that you may prefer." 

He threw back his head and laughed boyishly. 

"What a magnificently unlimited offer!" he ex- 
claimed. 'You mustn't let Mr. Maxwell know that 
you've made it, or he might be led to reconsider his 
high opinion of your business ability. Well, let us 
compromise. I'll agree to stay for the present, and 
keep things going until you are able to find some one 
to fill my place, or perhaps to direct the businesss 
yourself." 

'That is a bargain?" she asked eagerly. "You'll 
promise to stay and help me as long as I require help?" 

"It is a bargain," he answered. "I'll stay as long 
as I think you really need my help; for I wasn't merely 
trying to influence Mrs. Kemp when I told her that 
I feel bound to assist you in the difficulties of a situation 
which is so largely of my creating." 

"Which is altogether of your creating," she said. 
"But here comes the tea! And now we'll go and see 
what has become of Cecily and Julian Page." 



[68] 



CHAPTER VI. 

WHAT had become of Cecily and Julian Page 
may be briefly summed up in the statement 
that they were advancing toward intimacy 
with seven-league boots. There was, in fact, everything 
to promote a spirit of camaraderie between these two. 
Youth, similarity of tastes, and the artistic temperament 
possessed by both in different degrees, produced a 
sympathetic understanding which was recognized and 
expressed by each with equally frank surprise and 
pleasure. 

"I hadn't the faintest idea of finding anybody 
like you here!" Cecily exclaimed. "An artist just back 
from the studios of Paris — why, it's almost incredibly 
delightful!" 

' You're incredibly delightful!" the young man told 
her with equal frankness, and even greater enthusiasm. 
"I had no more idea of seeing anybody like you than — 
well, any comparison I can think of is altogether 
inadequate to express my astonishment. Of course 
I had heard that you were more than ordinarily good- 
looking. 'The younger sister is extremely pretty,' 
people said; but how could that prepare me for 
finding such — such a subject for a painter!" 

"A great many painters have found me a good 
subject," Cecily remarked, with the calmness of one 
who has nothing more to learn about her own beauty. 

[69] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"My friends among the artists in New York were 
constantly begging me to sit to them, and I rather 
liked doing it until I found myself recognized and 
stared at when I went to art exhibitions — which 
wasn't pleasant, you know." 

"The fellows were in luck who got you to sit for 
them," Julian said enviously. "I don't think any 
painter has had such a subject since Romney painted 
Lady Hamilton." 

"My hair no doubt suggests that comparison," 
she laughed. "Then, if you think they were so lucky, 
would you like to try your hand at painting me?" 

"Would I?" His eyes shone with eagerness. "I'd 
give anything to have the pleasure and privilege — " 

"You shall have it! I'll make Honora give you 
a commission to paint my portrait. I suppose you 
do paint portraits?" 

"That's my present occupation," he answered. 
"After I had spent quite a good deal of time and more 
than a good deal of money in studying abroad, my 
family suggested that it was desirable that some 
results in a material way should appear. It was 
pointed out to me that portrait-painting was a lucra- 
tive branch of art, and that there was a field for 
its exercise here, where for the first time since the war, 
people began to be rich enough to have their portraits 
painted. So I came back reluctantly enough, announced 
that I was ready to perpetuate the new order on 
canvas, and so far the new order has responded pretty 
well. But it's uninspiring work. The types aren't 
sufficiently distinguished to make it interesting, unless 
one gets hold of some representative of the old regime; 
and they, as a rule, are not in the prosperous class." 

[70] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Never mind!" Cecily consoled him. "Fate has 
sent you an inspiring subject in me; and there's 
Honora, too! We must have her portrait painted, 
and she is certainly an interesting type. She'll take 
more painting to do her justice than I will, I can tell 
you that." 

The young artist nodded. 

"Of a kind, yes," he agreed. "There's something 
very striking about her — not exactly beauty, but — 
er — a great deal of soul, if one may put it that way." 

"Exactly." Cecily nodded in turn. "That's just 
it; and souls are harder to paint than Titian hair." 

"I'm ready to try," Mr. Page declared cheerfully. 
"It's a very inspiring prospect, to have a chance at 
two such subjects — that is, if you really think she'll 
consent to be painted." 

"Oh, yes, she'll consent, if I put the matter to her 
judiciously! She's very good about doing whatever 
I ask." 

"What luck for you that she has the power now 
to do so much!" the young man could not refrain from 
commenting. "But do you know," he went on, with 
a burst of confidence, "since I've seen her I'm more 
than ever surprised at the extraordinary turn «of 
fortune that has given her the power?" 

"I suppose you mean that you are more than 
ever surprised at old Mr. Chisholm's choice of her 
to inherit his estate," Cecily said. "Well, frankly, 
you can't be more surprised than I am. I simply can 
not understand it at all; for Honora's not in the least 
the kind of person that you'd think a hard, money- 
making old man would be attracted by. And, besides, 
he didn't know her." 

[7i] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"He knew some things about her that attracted 
him, though. Bernard says that he has heard him 
speak with approval of the plucky fight she was making 
in New York. That was before he had any idea of 
finding any other heir than Bernard himself; but 
when the necessity to do so arose, you see he remem- 
bered the girl whose courage he had liked. That's 
the way Bernard accounts for a choice that astonished 
him as well as everybody else." 

"What an enigma he is — Bernard, I mean!" Cecily 
said abruptly. "What a strange thing he has done, 
and what an unlikely person he seems, as far as 
appearances go, to have done it! Do interpret him 
to me, if you can." 

Julian shook his head. 

"I can't," he replied. "Bernard is in great degree 
a mystery to me; though I've known him all my 
life, and we've always been, when we were together, 
very good friends. He's an extremely attractive person, 
as you can see, straight as a die, with a super-normal 
liking for things that are clean and high, and a great 
disgust always for things that are otherwise. But 
there wasn't ever a shade of what is called puritanism 
about him. He didn't seem to take any interest in 
religion, and he enjoyed life in a whole-hearted manner. 
So you can imagine my amazement when I heard that 
he had gone off at a religious tangent, and thrown 
away a magnificent fortune." 

"He can't be sane," Cecily declared with con- 
viction. "No sane person could do such a thing." 

"Oh, he's sane all right!" Julian assured her. 
"And, not only sane, but astonishingly unrepentant. 
I've looked for signs of regret in him, and I have never 

[72] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

yet seen one. He's a mystery, Bernard is, and all the 
more for putting on no mysterious airs." 

"Haven't you tried to make him explain himself?" 

"There are subjects one doesn't like to press; 
and he's a very reserved fellow about his — er — inner 
life." 

"But what directed his attention to the Catholic 
Church? There must have been some strong attrac- 
tion. Was he, perhaps, in love with a Catholic?" 

"If so, I've never heard of her existence; in fact, 
I'm quite sure she doesn't exist. I've never heard 
of his having any Catholic associations; which tends 
to make the matter more mysterious still." 

"It is so mysterious that it intrigues me immensely," 
Cecily said, "and I am going to set myself to find 
the mot de Venigme. There's bound to be one, you 
know." 

"I suppose so," Julian agreed. "And when you 
find it, will you kindly share the knowledge with me?" 

"That will depend on what it proves to be," she 
answered. "One mustn't violate confidence, you know. 
I must certainly turn my attention to that astonishing 
young man." 

The opportunity to turn her attention to the young 
man whom all his friends found so astonishing was 
not long in coming to Cecily. Opportunities of the 
kind were never long in coming to her; for those whom 
she desired to favor with her attention were always 
ready to afford her every facility for doing so. Bernard 
Chisholm proved no exception to the rule; and when 
she presently put down her teacup, and invited him to 
show her where the old gardens ended and the new 

[73] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

began — they had been talking of the plans on which 
the latter were laid out, — he rose with the utmost 
alacrity, and they walked away together. Honora 
looked after them with an expression which made 
Julian Page wonder a little what she was thinking ; but 
the next moment she turned her eyes on him and 
explained. 

"I hope Cecily will like him," she said. "I am 
so anxious that we shall be friends, and it's not always 
easy to know beforehand how she will like people." 

"Oh, everybody likes Bernard!" Julian assured 
her. "It's really quite impossible to do otherwise. 
And your sister herself is so — er — fascinating, that I 
haven't a doubt of their being friends. How beautiful 
she is!" he added impulsively. "And an artist besides! 
What a delightful combination!" 

"Cecily isn't much of an artist except in taste and 
sympathy," Honora said, smiling. "But she is wonder- 
fully adaptable, and they made so much of her in 
the studios, on account of her beauty, you know — " 

"They'd have been blind if they hadn't." 

"That she absorbed a great deal, and her instincts 
are all artistic. But I never had any illusions about 
her becoming an artist in any real sense. There is 
too much drudgery required to master the practical 
side of any art, and Cecily doesn't like drudgery." 

"How could she? Nature has so plainly formed 
her for other things!" 

Honora laughed a little sadly. 

"But Nature didn't furnish the means to support 
the other things," she said. "That has caused me 
great anxiety." 

"I can imagine it," the young man said sympa- 

[74] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

thetically. "But, happily, all need for such anxiety 
is over now. I can't tell you how immensely glad I 
am — since I've seen you — that old Cousin Alex was 
moved to leave his fortune as he did." 

"I shouldn't speak truly if I said I wasn't glad; 
for I am, especially on Cecily's account," Honora 
answered. "But perhaps you'll believe that I am 
also very sorry for Bernard's loss." 

"You needn't be." Julian echoed almost exactly 
Mrs. Kemp's assertion. "Bernard isn't an object for 
sympathy at all He's taken his loss like a true 
sportsman — " 

"Like something better than that, I think." 

"Well, perhaps so, but I speak of it as it appears 
to me; and I can assure you that he was genuinely 
pleased when he learned that his uncle had made you 
his heir. 'Why, that was fine of Uncle Alexander!' 
he exclaimed. 'I never thought he would do anything 
so good.'" 

"He said the same thing to me ten minutes after 
we met, and I felt that it was impossible to doubt 
his sincerity." 

f "It's quite impossible to doubt his sincerity about 
anything," Julian told her. "He's really a remarkable 
character in that respect. So I hope you'll set your 
mind at rest about having inherited the fortune, and 
just proceed to enjoy it as you should." 

"That's what he said also, — that I ought to enjoy 
it. But it isn't altogether easy to do so." 

"It would be immensely easy to most people," 
the young man laughed. "I'm beginning to believe 
that you are as remarkable as Bernard himself if you 
find it difficult." 

[75] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

He was struck by the wistful beauty of the eyes 
which looked at him. 

"Wouldn't you find it difficult," she asked, "to enjoy 
an inheritance which was taken from a man because he 
had done the highest thing possible — obeyed his con- 
science, even when to do so entailed great sacrifice?" 

"Upon my soul, I don't know whether I would 
or not," Mr. Page confessed. "But I think I should 
feel that no doubt he had his reward in the approval 
of his conscience — it must be an awfully agreeable 
thing to have an approving conscience, — and that, 
therefore, I might enjoy what had come to me without 
any effort on my part. You see, it's like this. You 
can't eat your cake and have it, too. Bernard couldn't 
expect to have the gratification of doing the highest 
thing possible and escape the sacrifice it entailed. 
I'm sure he didn't expect it. I'm sure he counted the 
cost and accepted it, and is now, as I've said, far too 
good a sportsman to complain." 

'You make it very clear," she smiled. "And your 
view is so much like his that I suppose I must accept 
it, and try to be a sportsman, too. Now tell me some- 
thing about this wonderfully changed Kingsford I've 
come back to, and the people I used to know. Was 
Cousin Mary Page your mother? Yes, I thought so. 
I remember her, and I hope she is — " 

"Alive and well? Very much alive, and quite 
well, thanks, and extremely anxious to see you. She'll 
be here very . soon — everybody except Bernard and 
myself thought it would be decent to give you a little 
time to settle down in, — and all Kingsford, old and 
new, will follow her. Shall I try to describe some of 
the people you'll meet?" 

[76] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Do!" Honora said gratefully. 

She found that his gift of verbal description — of 
hitting off a character in a few striking phrases — was 
fully equal to any power he might possess of limning 
a likeness with his brush; and before Cecily and 
Bernard returned from the gardens, she had acquired 
a very clear idea of Kingsford society, and of those 
who led it, under the changed conditions which 
prevailed. 

The sun was dropping low toward the west, and 
the long, golden shafts of light, which at the closing 
of day have such an extraordinarily beautiful effect, 
were streaming across the terrace, and gilding all the 
massed verdure below, when Cecily and Bernard finally 
appeared, each bearing an armful of flowers, and 
making such a picture as they advanced, that Julian 
Page cried out eagerly, — 

"Oh, stop, — stop where you are, that I may take 
in the effect of your figures in this light. Oh, why 
couldn't I paint you" (this to Cecily) "just as you are 
now, with all those roses in your arms, and the long 
sunshine bringing out every tint of color in your face 
and hair?" 

"There's no reason at all why you shouldn't," she 
replied, "except that I can't possibly wait until you 
bring paints and canvas, and the sunlight won't wait 
either. It's heavenly in the gardens, Honora; and 
there's such a wealth of flowers that I simply had to 
bring some of them back with me. It was hard to come 
back oneself, wasn't it?" she appealed to Bernard, 
with laughing eyes. 

"So hard," he answered, "that I think we deserve 

[77] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the utmost credit for having returned. But there 
really should be a limit to a visit — especially a first 
visit — and therefore I feel that Julian and I must now 
make our adieux, and perhaps our apologies also." 

'There's nothing possibly less called for than 
apologies," Cecily assured him, as she relieved him of 
his load of flowers. 

A few minutes later the sisters were alone, and 
watching the figures of the two young men as they 
went down the hill. There was a smile on Cecily's 
lips, and a light in her eyes that Honora knew well — 
a light of pleasure and gratified vanity — as she turned 
and looked at her. 

'They are delightful, aren't they?" she said. 
"Had you any idea of finding such men here, — and 
cousins, too, which enables one to be perfectly at ease 
with them at once?" 

"One couldn't be other than at ease with either 
of them, for they are so easy themselves," Honora 
answered. "I know you would like Julian Page very 
much — " 

"I don't like him any better than I like Bernard 
Chisholm," Cecily interrupted quickly. "In fact, he's 
the less interesting of the two to me, because I've 
known many men more or less of his type; but I've 
never known anybody of the type of the other, have 
you?" 

Honora shook her head. 

"No," she said. "I've never seen anybody just 
like him; but he's very attractive." 

"Oh, that's a commonplace way of describing him!" 
Cecily objected. "Of course it's quite true that he is 
attractive; but he's a great deal more than that. 

[?8] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

There's something very subtle about him. Don't you 
feel it?" 

"Perhaps so," Honora assented, "if by subtle you 
mean that you don't exactly understand him." 

"I mean a great deal more than that. There are 
numbers of people whom one mightn't understand, 
but whom it wouldn't at all follow that one would be 
interested in. Now, Bernard Chisholm is tremen- 
dously interesting— didn't you find him so when you 
carried him off to talk to him?" 

"I didn't carry him off," Honora reminded her. 
"He followed me, because he wanted — " 

'To talk to you. Of course I understood that." 
"He wanted to help me with Mrs. Kemp," Honora 
patiently explained. "It was very kind of him indeed; 
and he has persuaded her to remain as housekeeper 
for the present." 

'We could have managed very well without Mrs. 
Kemp," Cecily commented. "Of course he meant it 
kindly; but it would have been better to let a tiresome 
old woman, with a pronounced grievance, go. You 
weren't however, negotiating with Mrs. Kemp all 
the time you were away?" 

"Oh, no: we stopped to talk of other things, and 
he has promised to keep his position as general 
manager— I think that's what it is— of the business 
of the estate." 

'You did that!" Cecily stared at her sister. "You 
absolutely opened the subject immediately, and made 
him promise to stay in charge of what is not his anv 
longer?" 

"It never was his, you know." 

"But of course he felt as if it were, and now— 

[79] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Honora, you do astonish one occasionally very much!" 

"I don't see that I have done anything very aston- 
ishing," Honora remarked. 

"That's because you are not subtle," Cecily told her. 
"But his consenting to stay shows at least that he is 
pleased with — you." 

"He says that he feels an obligation to help me, 
since the situation has been created by his act," Honora 
further explained. 

Cecily looked meditatively after the slender, well- 
knit figure, now disappearing behind the last curve 
of the downward road. 

"He's amazingly original!" she observed. "I'm 
glad you have arranged matters so that we shall see 
a great deal of him; for as I told Julian Page a little 
while ago, he intrigues me immensely." 

A sudden sense of misgiving made Honora turn 
toward the speaker quickly. 

"Cecily," she said appealingly, "don't lead Bernard 
Chisholm to find yon too interesting. I — I couldn't 
bear for any harm to come to him through us." 

Cecily's lovely eyes — which were of an indescribable 
shade of color, somewhat like the tint of a purple 
pansy — opened injuredly. 

"Am I in the habit of leading men to find me 
interesting?" she asked. "I am generally obliged to 
devote my efforts to discouraging their interest. But 
you needn't be afraid for Bernard Chisholm. He can 
take care of himself, and I'm sure we shall be very 
great friends." 



[80] 



CHAPTER VII. 

WHEN Mr. Maxwell, punctual to his appoint- 
ment, arrived the next morning, he found 
Honora, equally punctual, awaiting him in 
the library, to which he was immediately shown. She 
met him with the friendly cordiality he had already 
learned to expect from her; and, as they shook hands, 
he was so struck by the smiling brightness of her eyes, 
as well as by a subtle change in her whole manner 
and expression, that he said approvingly: 

"You look as if you are at last beginning to realize 
and enjoy your good fortune." 

"I am," she replied. "For the first time it has 
acquired reality for me; and I should surely be very 
ungrateful if I didn't enjoy this beautiful place, and 
all that its possession means." 

"I'm glad that you've come to see things that 
way," he remarked; "for your attitude up to this 
time has been rather surprising. You've struck me as 
being more puzzled and worried than pleased by the 
change in your circumstances." 

She laughed a little, as they sat down together at 
the massive library table. 

'You are right: I have been both puzzled and 
worried," she said. "But things have cleared very 
much for me since I met Bernard Chisholm. You 
know he came to see me yesterday afternoon — but of 
course you know, since you' sent him." 

[81] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Oh, no, I didn't send him!" Mr. Maxwell said. 
"I only told him that I knew you would be glad to see 
him, and he was off at once; for it appeared that he 
was extremely anxious to see you." 

"Do you know why?" The leaf -brown eyes grew 
brighter as she looked at him. "For the kindest reason 
imaginable — because he had an instinct that I was 
feeling badly about taking the inheritance that should 
have been his, and he wanted to assure me that there 
was no cause for such a feeling." 

"He has apparently succeeded in convincing you 
that there is no cause." 

"How could one fail to be convinced when he 
declares seriously and earnestly that he made a delib- 
erate choice, which he doesn't regret in the least? 
You know him better than I do: could you doubt his 
assurance when given like that?" 

"I don't think I could," Mr. Maxwell replied. "I've 
never known a more sincere person than Bernard 
Chisholm. I'm sure nothing would induce him to say 
what wasn't strictly true." 

"Then one must believe what he says, even though 
it appears almost incredible," Honora deduced. "That 
strikes me as a great triumph of character," she added — 
"that people who are altogether out of sympathy 
with his motives, nevertheless believe absolutely in 
his sincerity." 

"Well, you see he's given a proof of sincerity which 
not even the most incredulous can doubt," the lawyer 
remarked a little dryly. 

"Yes," she assented. "Nobody doubts the sin- 
cerity which is proved by giving up money. It 
makes one wonder if that isn't the supreme use of 

[82] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

money in the world, to serve as a test of character." 

"It is certainly the great test," the man of the 
world agreed. "It's by their attitude with regard to 
money that we learn most unmistakably what men 
and women really are." 

"And by that test Bernard Chisholm has proved 
so unmistakably what he is," the girl deduced again, 
"that I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that he has con- 
sented to remain in charge of the business of the 
Chisholm estate." 

Mr. Maxwell, who had begun to untie a bundle 
of papers, looked up from them with his eyes opening 
widely under their glasses. 

"Is it possible?" he ejaculated. "I never thought 
he would consider remaining for a moment. And — er — 
you've certainly lost no time in settling the matter." 

"It seemed to me that it couldn't be settled too 
soon," Honora said simply. "So I took advantage of 
the first opportunity to ask him if he wouldn't remain 
in his present position — which is, practically, that of 
general manager, isn't it? Yes, I thought so" (as Mr. 
Maxwell nodded). "At first he was unwilling to consent 
but I put it to him so that he finally agreed to stay — 
for the present. I must own that he qualified his 
consent in that way." 

The lawyer leaned back in his chair and regarded 
her with an astonishment in which curiosity was 
largely mingled. 

"May I ask how you put it to him?" he inquired. 
"I'd have wagered almost anything that he wouldn't 
consent to remain under any circumstances." 

"I told him," Honora explained, "that, as he had 
by his act brought about the situation in which I am 

|83l 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

placed, I thought he ought to feel an obligation to 
help me discharge the obligations that have been 
thrown on me. He acknowledged that I was right, — 
that, since he had created the situation, he did owe me 
the help I claimed. And so he consented to remain 
in charge of the business." 

"Upon my word!" Mr. Maxwell emitted a short 
burst of laughter. "That exceeds anything I've ever 
heard in the way of plea. You, who've gained every- 
thing, demand help from him, who has lost it all, on 
the ground that he is responsible for your gain as well 
as for his own loss!" 

"And isn't it true?" Honora inquired calmly. 
"Isn't he responsible for the gain as well as for 
the loss?" 

"If he is, it doesn't constitute a claim upon him 
for service. That's quite the most illogical and absurd 
thing I ever heard of." 

"I'm glad to say that he didn't seem to consider 
it either illogical or absurd," Honora remarked, with 
the same calmness. "He saw my point of view at 
once, and acknowledged that it was reasonable. I 
confess" (a slightly deprecating smile came now about 
her lips) "that perhaps I took an unfair advantage of 
a plea he had made to Mrs. Kemp, to induce her to 
remain in her position — " 

"Is it possible that Mrs. Kemp has consented to 
remain?" 

"Yes, but only because 'Mr. Bernard' asked her 
to do so; and the ground on which he put his request 
was that it would be kind to make things easier for my 
inexperience. So then I asked him if this didn't apply 
in a larger sense to his own position, and he admitted 

[84] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

that it did, as he also admitted his responsibility for 
the whole situation. I hope I didn't press the last 
point too strongly; but I was very anxious for him 
to stay, and — and I thought you would be glad to 
know that he has consented to do so." 

"I am glad," Mr. Maxwell assured her, "both for 
his sake and for the sake of the business. But I'm 
also exceedingly surprised. I never imagined that he 
would stay. It seemed too much to expect that he 
would remain as a servant where he had been vir- 
tually master, in his own mind and that of everyone 
else." 

"I think one might expect a good deal of him 
without being disappointed," Honora observed quietly. 
"And I should like you to believe that, in making the 
only plea that would have induced him to remain, I 
wasn't as selfish as perhaps I seem." 

"My dear young lady," Mr. Maxwell exclaimed, 
"I don't for an instant imagine that you were selfish 
in any degree! Of course I understand that you were 
chiefly anxious to benefit him by inducing him to 
retain his connection with the business in a well-paid 
position — " 

"Yes, but it was only a secondary consideration 
that it is — that it must be — a well-paid position," she 
interposed quickly. "No doubt he could find a position 
elsewhere that would pay him as well; but I want him 
to stay here because this is his place, and he must not 
lose touch with it." 

Again the lawyer looked at her curiously, as if 
wondering what she had in her mind. 

"It would certainly be a pity that he should do 
so," he said; "for he has a very complete grasp of all 

[85] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the details of the business, and a remarkable influence 
over the people employed in the factories." 

"We couldn't afford to lose that influence, could 
we?" Honora queried wistfully. "It means so much, 
the influence of personality. And one has only to see 
Bernard Chisholm to realize what an effect his person- 
ality may exert." 

"He's an uncommonly attractive person," Mr. 
Maxwell agreed; "but there's necessarily a weak side 
to his character, or he couldn't have been led away 
in the extraordinary manner that he was." 

"I should say that there must be a very strong 
side to his character, or he couldn't have acted as he 
did," Honora remarked. "It's as you said a moment 
ago about his sincerity — one can't doubt the strength 
that is proved by such a sacrifice as he has made." 

"Oh, strength of will — yes, he has plenty of that!" 
the lawyer admitted. "It's in judgment that he has 
proved weak. A man can be obstinate and ready to 
sacrifice his interest in a mistaken cause, you know." 

"I suppose he can be. But isn't it difficult to tell 
with certainty what is a mistaken cause?" 

"Not in this case, I think." The tone was dry 
and a trifle significant. "Now shall we proceed to 
business? I've brought here a statement of the property, 
and of the sources from which your income is derived." 

Mr. Maxwell was not surprised when, on returning 
to his office a little later, he found Bernard Chisholm 
there waiting for him. The young man laid down the 
newspaper over which he had been glancing, and looked 
up with a smile as the older man entered. 

"You've been longer than I expected," he said. 

[86] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"But of course a business interview with a woman 
demands time." 

"Not with such a woman as Honora Trezevant," 
the lawyer answered. "She has as clear a head for 
business as any man — as you'll soon find." 

The other lifted his brows, smiling a little more. 

"I'll find! That means you've heard—" 

"Naturally. Didn't you intend me to hear?" 

"My presence here answers that question. I came 
to tell you that I've promised Miss Trezevant to remain 
in charge of the business for the present; and, finding 
you gone, I hadn't much difficulty in guessing where 
you were. Of course I knew that she'd tell you. I 
suppose you were surprised." 

"Extremely." Mr. Maxwell sat down in his 
accustomed chair, and swung it around to face the 
other. "That doesn't mean, however, that I'm not 
heartily glad on your account as well as on hers," he 
went on; "but you'll understand why I wasn't expect- 
ing such a decision on your part." 

"I understand perfectly. I wasn't expecting it 
myself." 

"And so you'll perhaps not mind explaining a 
little. I'm curious to know why you allowed her to 
persuade you to stay, if you didn't wish to do so." 

"Well, there's something very appealing about 
her," the young man confessed. "And the whole situ- 
ation is appealing. It's a tremendous responsibility 
to throw, without any preparation, on a girl, you 
know; and it seemed hardly decent to refuse to help 
her with it." 

"So it was quixotism, after all. I was inclined to 
think so." 

[87] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I shouldn't call it quixotism exactly. It was 
rather—" Bernard paused a moment, and his manner 
grew graver — "a sense of duty. I don't like to appear 
priggish, but there seemed to me a call of duty involved 
that I couldn't disregard. Oh, yes" (answering Mr. 
Maxwell's look), "I know you're thinking that it's 
strange I should feel duty in connection with what 
has been taken from me and given to some one else; 
but, you see, I don't look at the matter from that 
point of view at all." 

"It's quite beyond me to tell from what point of 
view you do look at it," the other bluntly remarked. 

"Yet it's very plain," Bernard said quietly. 
"Putting aside Miss Trezevant and her need of help, 
there's a great deal I can do in connection with the 
property that no one else can do. You'll grant that 
I suppose?" 

"Of course I will. I told her so." 

"Well, doesn't capability carry an obligation with 
it? I mean — oh, confound it! I must talk like a prig! 
Isn't it clear that where one is needed, where one sees 
one's work cut out and waiting, is where one should 
stay, whether it's the place one would choose or not?" 

"I can't see that there's any obligation upon you 
to stay and work for a business that you've no longer 
any interest in." 

"But I have an interest in it, — that's just the 
point. I haven't lost my interest in seeing it prosper, 
in carrying on what was so close to my poor uncle's 
heart, and in helping the people concerned, just because 
it doesn't belong to me. Personal possession is really 
a very small thing, you know." 

"I'll be hanged if it is!" Mr. Maxwell declared with 

[88] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

energy. "It's the most important thing in human 
society, and you're talking nonsense when you say 
otherwise." 

"Oh, I'm not disputing the sacred rights of 
property!" Bernard told him, with a laugh. "I mean 
only that to some people — and I'm one of them — it 
is a matter of small importance whether or not one's 
personal interest is at stake when it's a question of 
good work to be done." 

Mr. Maxwell looked at him with much the same 
mixture of admiration and disapproval that Mrs. 
Kemp's manner had expressed. 

"You're an odd fellow," he said, "and a striking 
example of the result of not taking personal interest 
into consideration. You'd be able to accomplish a 
great deal more if you owned the Chisholm estate 
yourself, as you ought to own it, you know." 

"Oh, I'm well enough aware of that!" Bernard 
answered. "There were many things I had dreamed 
of doing when the ownership came to me. But of 
course it was not necessary that they should be done," 
he added cheerfully, "or the opportunity would have 
been given me." 

"The opportunity was in your hand and you threw 
it away," Mr. Maxwell reminded him. "You can't 
blame anybody but yourself — " 

"I don't," the young man interpolated. 

"But it looks as if another opportunity may be 
offered you now, if you have sense enough to take 
advantage of it." 

"You mean—?" 

"I mean that Miss Trezevant will undoubtedly 
give you a free hand with the business, and you'll be 

[89] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

able to carry out your plans almost as if you were the 
owner; while of course, if things prosper with them — " 

"I'm really not thinking of anything of that kind." 

"Well, so much the worse for you if you're not," 
Mr. Maxwell snapped. "Having ruined your prospects 
in life by throwing away a fine fortune for— um — er — " 

"A question of conscience, let us say." 

"You've now an extraordinary chance to recover 
a part at least of what you've lost. This girl who 
has inherited your uncle's fortune is a very uncommon 
person, let me tell you." 

Bernard nodded. "I've observed that," he said. 

"She has not only the clearest head for business 
I've ever seen in a woman, as I remarked a few minutes 
ago, but she's thinking of everything and everybody 
in the world sooner than herself." 

"I've also observed that." 

"And there's nothing she's thinking of more than 
of how to make up to you for your great loss." 

"But that won't do, you know!" the young man 
cried quickly. "I've tried to set her straight on that 
point, — to make her understand that I'm not injured 
in any way. But as she insists on considering me as 
a subject for charitable atonement, I'll have to re- 
consider the promise to stay, which, between ourselves, 
she extorted from me — " 

"She acknowledges that she did." 

"And sever my connection with the Chisholm estate 
in an emphatic manner." 

"If you do, you'll play the fool more completely 
than I could have imagined possible, even for you — " 

"Many thanks!" 

"And you'll behave in a very rude and ungracious 

[90] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

manner besides — which I really consider you incapable 
of doing." 

"Thanks again! But don't you see that to stay 
in order to help her, and to stay when she thinks she's 
benefiting me by retaining my services, are two very 
different things?" 

"Just so." Mr. Maxwell's tone took its driest 
accent. "It's the difference between being willing to 
confer a favor and quite unwilling to receive one. 
There's nothing remarkable in that attitude, but 
there's a confounded amount of unregenerate pride." 

"Possibly there is," Bernard admitted; "but, all 
the same, I'm afraid I can't consent to occupy the 
position of Miss Trezevant's beneficiary." 

"There's not the slightest danger that your new 
religion will ever canonize you for your humility," Mr. 
Maxwell assured him. "Well, you may set your pride 
at rest. She is quite as much impressed as you could 
desire with the favor you are doing her by remaining." 

"Oh, I don't want her to feel anything like that!" 

"Then what the deuce do you want her to feel?" 
Mr. Maxwell's patience gave way. "If she isn't to be 
obliged to you, and you decline to be obliged to her, 
how does the matter stand?" 

"It stands, so far as I'm concerned, on a strict 
business basis," Bernard replied — "or no" (he caught 
himself up), "that's not true, except in a limited sense. 
It wasn't as a business proposition that I agreed to 
remain, but because I saw that she was very anxious 
for me to do so ; and I thought it would relieve her mind, 
while at the same time I could help her more than she 
knew. I had a comfortable sense of conferring a benefit — 
you're quite right about that, — and there's really no 

[9i] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

reason why I should object to her having the same 
feeling." 

"Only she hasn't anything of the kind. On the 
contrary, she is very grateful to you, and quite appre- 
ciates the sacrifice you're making by staying. So don't 
go and spoil a fine act by any ill-judged display of 
pride." 

Bernard's handsome dark eyes had a light of 
amusement in them as he looked at the older man. 

"You'd make a good father confessor," he said, 
"since it's the business of a father confessor to get at 
the root of motives and to make one feel small. Well, 
it's settled, then, that for the present things are to go 
on as they are. That's what I came in to tell you, 
though we've taken some time to get to the point. 
But you must understand, and I hope Miss Trezevant 
understands, that it's a purely temporary arrange- 
ment." 

"Oh, yes, she understands clearly enough! But 
I hope it may prove more enduring than you expect." 

A significance he had not intended crept into the 
speaker's tone, and brought a change to Bernard 
Chisholm's face and manner. A distinct shade of 
reserve came over both as he rose. 

"There's not the least probability of that," he 
replied. "As I've explained, I've consented to remain 
for only a time — until Miss Trezevant learns how to 
fit into her place; and then I shall go. Meanwhile 
you'd better be looking out for some one to take my 
position." 

A moment later he had left the office; and as Mr. 
Maxwell sat staring after his retreating figure, he 
seemed to hear Honora's wistful words: "I want 

[92] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

him to stay because this is his place, and he must not 
lose touch with it." 

The lawyer shook his head. 

"It'll be hard work to keep him," he muttered 
aloud, "unless — unless — and I doubt if that's possible." 



I 93) 



CHAPTER VIII. 

JULIAN PAGE had been entirely accurate in saying 
that Kingsford was on tiptoe with eagerness to 
see and welcome the young heiress and her 
sister, who were spoken of by their old friends and 
relatives as "the Trezevant girls." During the next 
few days, therefore, society swept down in force upon 
them; and they did little else than receive a succession 
of visitors, renew hereditary friendships, form new 
acquaintances, and endeavor to assimilate as far as 
possible the impressions made upon them by the new 
life in which they found themselves. 

Many of these impressions were, to Honora at 
least, very surprising; for she found that the material 
changes she had already observed in Kingsford were 
only outward indications of deeper changes in the 
spirit of the place. The great wave of what is known 
as "industrial development," which during the last 
two decades had been felt more or less over the entire 
South, had, owing to its situation, struck Kingsford 
with particular force; and a prosperity had resulted 
which piled up other fortunes besides that of Mr. 
Chisholm, brought in a new element, and inaugurated 
an era of social extravagance and ostentation wholly 
foreign to the spirit of the place as she remembered it. 

"Oh, yes, my dear," "Cousin Mary Page" told 
her on their first meeting, "you've come back to a 

[94] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

changed Kingsford! Improved, people call it; but to 
my mind there's quite as much deterioration as improve- 
ment. All these manufacturers have brought a great 
deal of money, but money isn't always a blessing to 
a place any more than to a person: one must know 
how to use it wisely, and these new people don't know. 
So society has undergone a great change for the worse. 
You see, we of the old order are of very little importance 
now unless we happen to possess money, which most 
of us don't possess; and therefore we're all delighted — 
though I must confess we were also much surprised — 
that Cousin Alex left his fortune to you; and we are 
hoping many things from you." 

"What kind of things?" Honora asked. "I had 
better know, so as not to disappoint you." 

"Well, we hope you'll take the social leadership to 
which you're entitled from your birth and position, 
and give a better tone to society than it has now." 

"I'm afraid mother expects the impossible of you," 
Alicia Page, a pretty, dark-eyed girl, who was sitting 
by, said laughingly. "She thinks that so powerful a 
combination as old family and money and — er — youth 
and beauty should be able to work wonders, as of 
course it can, but not exactly the wonders she's thinking 
of. What she doesn't realize is that the change is in 
the new generation as much as in the new order of 
things." 

"J realize it," Cecily remarked suddenly; "and 
I don't see why one should want to stand still, and 
not move with the world. Changes must come. The 
whole world is changing, and why shouldn't Kingsford 
change with it? Of course there must be a great deal 
of crudity and vulgarity about all this new money, 

[95] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and the new people who have made it; but that is 
better than poverty and stagnation; and it may be 
possible to lead them into better ways." 

Mrs. Page — who, being of an ample and handsome 
presence, sat as if enthroned in a large, golden-backed 
chair — turned a not altogether approving eye on the 
speaker. 

"That is what I have suggested," she said, — "that 
they should be led into better ways." 

"But modern ways, not the old ways," Cecily 
explained. "What is out of date is always undesirable; 
for we wouldn't wish to become fossilized, would we?" 

"We might become something very much worse," 
Mrs. Page replied, with suppressed indignation; for 
"fossilized" happened to be the offensive term most 
often applied by the new order to the old. 

"Do you think so?" Cecily opened her beautiful 
eyes smilingly. "Really, I don't. I should object 
very much to becoming fossilized. I want to be in 
the forefront of the modern movement; but I should 
hold fast to all that is artistically beautiful and 
dignified in life and manners — " 

"And all that is morally good, I hope?" 

"Oh, I suppose so — only there's such a difference 
of opinion about what is morally good that it's rather 
hard to set a standard on that point. We can't afford 
to be dogmatic any more than to be fossilized, you 
know." 

"If by that you mean that we can't afford to have 
any standard of right and wrong," said Mrs. Page, 
"I must certainly differ with you." 

Cecily's smile was as exasperating in its superiority 
as its sweetness. 

[96] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"It's because we all differ that we can't be 
dogmatic without being absurd," she stated. 'That's 
one of the great differences between the old and the 
new generation, of which you were speaking," she 
added, turning to Alicia, who was watching her with 
bright, amused eyes. "The old generation accepted 
certain dogmas, which they never questioned; but 
the new generation do not accept anything without 
question; and after you've questioned — well, there 
isn't much left to accept, you know." 

"Not even revealed religion?" Mrs. Page inquired 
sternly. 

"Revealed religion least of all," Cecily replied 
calmly. "The only people who have a right to be 
dogmatic on that point are those whom Bernard 
Chisholm has joined. We of the new generation know 
that very well." 

The heresy thus boldly enunciated was for the 
moment lost sight of in the thrill which the abrupt 
introduction of Bernard Chisholm's name brought to 
every member of the group. Mrs. Page glanced quickly 
at Honora. 

" I believe you've met Bernard," she said. "Although 
he's acted so foolishly, we are all very sorry for him. 
I'm sure you understand how that is, though we are 
so delighted to have you here." 

"I understand perfectly," Honora assured her. "I 
have felt very sorry for him myself; but it is not 
easy to be sorry for him after one has seen him." 

"He takes it beautifully, doesn't he?" Alicia Page 
said eagerly. "I think it's perfectly wonderful, his 
attitude. He won't accept sympathy — I mean he 
won't admit that he stands in any need of it,— and 

[97] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

he won't listen to a word of blame of Cousin Alex, who, 
/ think, was neither more nor less than a wretched old 
bigot." 

"Alicia!" Her mother's contralto voice held a 
tone of rebuke. "You shouldn't speak in that manner 
of Cousin Alex, who was perfectly conscientious in 
what he did, as Bernard himself would be the first 
to tell you." 

"Oh, Bernard! — I've no patience with him on that 
point," Alicia declared. "He's what I call positively 
maudlin about it." 

Cecily laughed. "One would like to stiffen him up, 
and make him own that he's been abominably treated," 
she said. "But somehow one can't believe that he's 
exactly posing — " 

"Posing!" Alicia was indignant at the suggestion. 
"He wouldn't know how to pose. You don't know 
Bernard if you think so." 

"I've just said that I don't think so," Cecily replied. 
"I tried to draw him out on the subject, but he 
wouldn't be drawn; only looked at me, and laughed, 
and said that I couldn't expect him to find fault with 
a situation which provided so appropriate a setting 
for — er — us." 

"It is appropriate," Alicia agreed, as her bright 
eyes — out of which the amusement had vanished — 
regarded the speaker, who seemed perfectly at home 
in the beautiful, rose-hung drawing-room. 

"It's no wonder that Julian raved so about her," 
she remarked a little later, as her mother and herself 
drove away in their old-fashioned carriage — for the 
Pages were of those whom the new prosperity had 
not touched. "She's the loveliest creature I almost 

[98] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

ever saw — but I don't think I'm going to like her 
very much." 

"She's pretty enough," Mrs. Page conceded. "But 
I've never seen a worse example of the new order of 
young people: vain, conceited, self-sufficient, and I'm 
quite sure as selfish as she is ill-mannered. Now, 
Honora is very different. But evidently the younger 
sister is the one who rules. It's clear that she has 
been spoiled to death." 

"Not to death," Alicia laughed; "for she is very, 
very much alive, as I think Kingsford will soon 
learn." 

And Alicia was right in her forecast. Kingsford 
indeed soon learned that the younger Miss Trezevant 
was very much alive. Her beauty, her style, her 
cleverness, the note of modernity in all she did and 
said — though a modernity largely tempered with 
disdain for all that was extreme or in bad taste, — and 
the fascination which emanated from her, took society 
by storm. As was more graphically than elegantly 
expressed by those who were slightly sardonic observers 
of social activities which they did not share, people 
"fell over each other" in their efforts to secure her 
presence at their various entertainments; and, since 
she was more than a little difficult on this point, the 
hostess who could announce Miss Cecily Trezevant 
as a guest at bridge party, luncheon, or club meeting, 
scored a triumph which no one disputed. 

Meanwhile the elder Miss Trezevant — "the real 
heiress," as she was sometimes spoken of — was rather 
an enigma to Kingsford. She was very quiet, according 
to the general consensus of opinion among those who 

[99] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

had met her; and very "reserved," which meant that 
she listened more than she spoke, and that she told 
nothing of her plans and intentions with regard to 
the fortune which had so unexpectedly come to her. 
Kingsford was consumed with curiosity to know what 
she intended to do, how she would manage the large 
interests which had passed into her hands, and how 
far she might be counted upon as a factor in social 
matters. But those who had ventured to sound her 
on these matters found her absolutely uncommuni- 
cative. That a girl lifted so suddenly out of poverty, 
and in such dramatic fashion given the control of 
great wealth, should have been excited, should even 
have had her head turned by the fairy-tale-like change 
of circumstances, and the sense of power which the 
possession of money brings, would have been readily 
understood, and was perhaps expected. But no one 
could for a moment think that Honora was excited 
by her new prosperity or that her head was in any 
degree turned. "She might have come into it in 
the most natural way possible, from the manner in 
which she takes it," people said in mingled won- 
der and disappointment; for the world does not 
like to miss an expected sensation, and there was 
no sensation whatever to be derived from Honora's 
attitude. 

And, then, there was Bernard Chisholm, who was 
also provokingly incomprehensible. Kingsford had 
long since declared that it did not understand him; 
and it understood him less than ever when it heard 
that he had agreed to retain the management of the 
business of the estate he had forfeited. "He is doing 
it to help and oblige Honora," Cecily airily explained, 

[ ioo] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

for Honora explained nothing. But this rather deep- 
ened than dissipated the mystery; for why, people 
asked, should he wish to help and oblige Honora, who 
had inherited the fortune that should have been his? 
As might be supposed, the first explanation to occur 
to those who did not know him very well was that 
he proposed to regain what he had lost by the road of 
matrimony. "He'll make himself indispensable to her, 
and end by marrying her. Odd that old Mr. Chisholm 
didn't anticipate that," was sapiently remarked by 
many. But Bernard Chisholm's friends made no such 
mistake. 

"What does he mean by it?" Julian Page said to 
a lady who questioned him. "You might answer that 
question yourself. Of course it's just his confounded 
altruism." 

The lady, who was Mrs. Robert Selwyn — formerly 
Edith Creighton, — nodded comprehendingly. 

"I thought as much," she said. "But people in 
general are quite sure that he has a motive which is 
very far from altruistic." 

Julian shrugged his shoulders in the foreign fashion 
he had acquired during his residence abroad. 

'When do people ever fail to draw such conclu- 
sions?" he asked. 

"But there's really some reason for it in this case," 
Mrs. Selwyn remarked judicially. "Almost anybody 
who didn't know him very well would think the motive 
was obvious. The world doesn't believe much in 
altruism, you know." 

"Anybody with sense ought to find it possible 
to believe that, or any other absurdity of Bernard 
Chisholm," Julian declared. "The manner in which 

Jioi] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

he threw away a fortune should make anything else 
he may do easy of belief." 

"On the contrary, the average person is convinced 
that he must by this time be sorely repenting the 
sacrifice he made, and that he has grasped an easy 
way of regaining what he lost." 

"Just the acute and charitable judgment one 
would expect from the average person," the young 
man commented. "Bernard's motives are as far 
beyond his or her comprehension as — well, as they 
are beyond mine, except that I know he is sincere 
in what he says of them." 

"What does he say? I frankly confess that I'm 
as curious as everybody else about him; and this 
new development is extremely interesting." 

"It's as simple as can be, from his point of view. 
He has agreed to remain in charge of the business 
for the present, because Miss Trezevant begged him 
to do so, appealing to him to help her in bearing a 
responsibility that his action threw upon her. He 
told me, after our first visit, that he had been unable 
to refuse when she made that plea." 

Edith Selwyn's eyes filled with a light of mingled 
amazement and laughter. 

"Think of her making such a plea, and of his 
finding it irresistible!" she exclaimed. "They must 
be well matched in oddity. What kind of person is 
she really?" 

"Very attractive indeed — simple, direct, and with 
something quite charming about her. But is it 
possible you haven't met her yet?" 

"Not yet, I'm sorry to say; for I'm extremely 
anxious to meet her. But she wasn't at home the 

[ 1 02 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

day I called — had gone to visit some of her factories, 
I believe, — and I saw only the younger sister." 

"Ah! And what did you think of her?" 

"What could I think except that she is a striking 
beauty, as all Kingsford agrees, and extremely well 
aware of the fact?" 

Julian's foreign lift of the shoulders came into 
play again. 

"What beautiful woman isn't aware of her beauty 
and of the power it gives?" he inquired. "And if 
Cecily Trezevant makes no pretense of not being 
aware of it, that's because she is as clever as she's 
beautiful, and she knows the futility of such pretenses." 

"She's clever certainly," Mrs. Selwyn acknowledged, 
"and very much aware of that also. But she's quite 
fascinating — and I don't wonder in the least that 
you've been bowled over completely, as I hear you 
have been." 

"Oh, you've heard that, have you?" 

"My dear boy, everybody has heard it, and nobody 
is surprised. If there ever was a subject for an artist's 
adoration, Cecily Trezevant is that subject. I'm told 
you are painting her portrait, and I'm sure you'll 
make something wonderfully good of it." 

"I wish I were sure of it!" Julian groaned. "She 
may be a subject for an artist's adoration, but I can 
tell you she's an awfully hard subject for an artist's 
brush. You wouldn't believe how many different 
aspects she has, and she torments me by constantly 
showing a new one, so that I spend my time painting 
out what I've already put in." 

"What does she think of that?" 

"It evidently affords her much amusement. You 

[ 103 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

see, she's no stranger to painters and their ways. She 
was in the studios a great deal in New York, dabbled 
in art herself, and sat for artists frequently." 

"Has she artistic talent?" 

Again Julian shrugged. 

"Hardly talent," he said, "but much clever 
facility, and a cultivated taste." He paused a moment. 
"I should say that her chief talent was for enjoyment 
of life," he added then. "She's alive to her finger-tips, 
and thrilling with all the possibilities that life holds 
for her. I've never seen any one more intoxicated with 
the sense of existence." 

"And the possession of the Chisholm fortune, no 
doubt." 

"Because the Chisholm fortune opens the doors 
of life to her, yes. Up to the present time, she's been 
like a bird beating her wings against the bars of a cage. 
And now the door of the cage is open, and the world 
is all before her." 

Mrs. Selwyn threw a curious look at him. 

"And where do you expect to come in?" she asked. 

"Not anywhere," he answered frankly. "She 
doesn't give me a thought, beyond the fact that I 
amuse her at the present moment, and we have a 
great deal in common." 

"It must count in your favor that there's nobody 
else here who possibly interests her at all." 

"I can't flatter myself that that's the case. There's 
one person who interests her more than I do, and 
that's Bernard Chisholm." 

"Bernard Chisholm!" Edith opened wide eyes. 
"Why, I can't imagine two people more unlike than 
they must be." 

[ 104] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"And have you never heard of the attraction of 
unlikeness?" Julian asked. "He's such a new type 
to her that I think she is interested through curiosity. 
And, then, Bernard's a tremendously likable chap, 
you know." 

"Of course I know. He's more than likable: he's 
what I call lovable; but I should not think he would 
attract a girl like Cecily Trezevant, nor that she would 
attract him. You see, he has done such an over- 
whelmingly unworldly thing; and I can well believe 
that she is, as you say, madly in love with the world." 

"I don't know that she does attract him further 
than that he must admire her beauty and recognize 
her charm," Julian explained. "We haven't discussed 
the subject at all; but in my opinion it would take an 
anchorite to resist Cecily Trezevant when she lays 
herself out to fascinate — and I'm not sure of the 
anchorite." 

"Naturally you wouldn't be," Edith laughed. 
"Well, this opens a new view of the situation, and I 
am immensely interested in it. Really it begins to look 
as if old Mr. Chisholm had kindly provided some 
very dramatic elements for our entertainment. There 
isn't anything in the will to prevent Honora from 
giving half her fortune to Cecily if she married Bernard, 
is there?" 

"Nothing that I'm aware of," Julian replied; "but 
a good deal in the parties concerned to prevent it, 
unless I'm vastly mistaken." 

"You're too much interested for your opinion to 
be of much value," Edith mocked. "I prefer to trust 
my own powers of observation, and I shall proceed 
to cultivate the Trezevant sisters with a new zest." 

[105] 



CHAPTER IX. 

HONOR A, why aren't you ready? Have you 
forgotten that you promised to go out with 
me this morning?" 

Cecily's voice was sharp with impatience as she 
entered the room where Honora, pen in hand, was 
sitting at an open desk, a page covered with writing 
and figures before her. She turned hastily and 
apologetically. 

"Oh, I am sorry!" she said. "But I had forgotten 
completely. And now you must excuse me, for I am 
very busy — ' ' 

"Busy!" Cecily echoed the word in a tone of 
intense disgust. "I thought that was one thing you 
were done with — being busy, and giving up things 
you want to do for such stuff as that!" 

She pointed disdainfully to the business-like sheet 
on the desk; and as Honora looked at her she thought 
not so much of her words as of how pretty she was 
in a charming costume of silvery gray, with a picture 
hat, covered with plumes, shading her lovely face 
and splendid masses of hair. 

"I've never imagined that I was done with being 
busv," Honora said. "How could I be when there's so 
much business connected with this large estate?" 

"But there are other people to attend to it — people 
employed and paid for that purpose, — so why should 

[ 106] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

you make a slave of yourself?" Cecily demanded. 
"What's the good of having the fortune if it doesn't 
set you free to do what you like?" 

"How can one ever be free to do exactly what 
one likes?" her sister asked. "There are always duties 
that must come first — " 

"That," Cecily interrupted, "is nonsense, and at 
present simply an excuse to be disobliging. There's 
nothing to compel you to sit over those stupid accounts, 
or whatever they are, this lovely day, instead of coming 
out with me." 

"But there really is something," Honora insisted. 
"I have an appointment with Bernard Chisholm this 
morning. We are to settle about some improvements 
to be made in the factories. So you see, although I'm 
sorry to be disobliging, I can't go out with you." 

"If Bernard Chisholm is coming and you promised 
to be in, I suppose you can't very well go out," Cecily 
grudgingly admitted. "But you should have remem- 
bered your promise to me before you made the 
appointment. I particularly wanted you to see my 
portrait this morning. Julian has had an awful time 
over it, but I think he has really got something very 
good at last." 

'Then it must have changed amazingly since I 
saw it," Honora remarked. "It wasn't the least like 
you then." 

"That's the reason I wanted you to see it to-day — 
to judge of the likeness now. It's very provoking, your 
disappointing me this way. And Mrs. Selwyn is 
coming to see it, too." 

"Well, you'll be there, and the portrait; so I 
don't see that I am at all necessary," Honora laughed. 

[ 107 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Not if you don't take any interest in my picture — " 
Cecily began. 

'You know that I take the keenest interest," 
Honora interposed. "But I've seen a great many 
portraits of you, and this one didn't seem to promise 
very much." 

"Don't take the trouble to apologize." Cecily 
began to put on her gloves with rather an aloof air. 
"Of course I understand that the factories are much 
more interesting; and the fact is that you haven't 
thrown off the yoke of the business drudge yet, and 
I don't believe that you ever will." 

"Give me a little more time, and perhaps I may," 
Honora smiled whimsically. "At all events, it's the 
greatest possible pleasure to me that you are free from 
any necessity to drudge, that you can go out into 
the sunshine and enjoy yourself like — " 

"Any other butterfly." It was Cecily's turn to laugh 
now, and in the laughter her vexation evaporated. 
She stooped and dropped a light kiss on her sister's 
cheek. "Dear old thing!" she said affectionately. 
"As if I didn't know that you like nothing so much 
as to see me arrayed like the lilies of the field, and, 
in common phrase, 'having a good time'! But I'm 
determined that you shall have a good time, too; 
so you may just take warning. I won't allow anything 
like this to happen again. If you've promised to go 
out with me, you shall go, whether the factories are 
in the way or not. And as for Bernard Chisholm — " 

"What are you going to do with him?" a voice 
behind her asked. 

Cecily wheeled around, to face the young man who 
at that moment had been shown into the room, and 

[108] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

who advanced with outstretched hand and amused 
eyes. 

"If it's to be anything very dreadful, let the blow 
fall at once," he pleaded. "I've a great objection to 
suspense." 

"You shall be forced to leave drudgery, and be 
carried off to idle also," the girl told him severely. 
"I've just been quarrelling with Honora because she 
promised to go out with me this morning, and now 
she informs me that she can't go because she has an 
appointment with you about some wretched factory 
improvements." 

"Oh, but really that can wait!" Bernard said, 
turning quickly to Honora. "There's no immediate 
need of haste; and I can come any other time, if you 
prefer to go out to-day." 

"But I don't prefer to do so," Honora answered. 
"Cecily says that I haven't thrown off the yoke of a 
business drudge yet. And perhaps she's right; for 
I couldn't think of neglecting something that ought 
to be done, for mere amusement — not to speak of 
sending you away, after you've been so kind as to come 
for a special purpose." 

"That wouldn't matter, I assure you." 

"It would matter very much to me; so we will 
not discuss it, please. And, Cecily, if the car is waiting, 
hadn't you better go?" 

"Being dismissed, perhaps I had," Cecily replied, 
as she met Bernard's laughing eyes,- — eyes which told 
her that he also was admiring her beauty. "Come 
and look at our new limousine," she bade him. 
"Honora can spare you for a few minutes from the 
factory improvements." 

[ 109] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I have already seen the limousine, but I shall 
have pleasure in seeing you in it," he told her, as they 
went out together to where a handsomely appointed 
ear, with liveried chauffeur, was awaiting her. "It 
is of the latest and most approved model," he said, 
running an appreciative eye over the lines. "I hope 
you like it." 

"I adore it!" she declared. "I don't know anything 
that gives one a keener sense of the ease and power 
of wealth. How often I've looked at women in such 
cars, as they were borne along so swiftly and luxuri- 
ouslv, and envied them — are you surprised?" She 
broke off as she caught his glance. "But of course I 
envied them. One must desire the beautiful and 
luxurious things of life if one hasn't got them. It is 
sheer hypocrisy to pretend otherwise." 

"There are some people to whom they are so appro- 
priate that one must be very glad when they have 
obtained them," he said, regarding the charming 
picture she made, after he had placed her in the car 
and closed the door. 

But she flushed a little as she looked up at him. 

"You are always saying things like that to me," 
she exclaimed; "and, kind as they sound, I'm not 
at all sure that they are flattering. Just now I think 
you don't want to tell me that you consider me a 
very poor creature, to care so much for wealth, and all 
that wealth can buy, as I frankly confess that I do." 

"But, good heavens!" he protested, "why should 
you imagine that I want to tell you anything of the 
kind? I've never for a moment thought you a poor 
creature for having desires that are altogether natural 
in one so young and so — " 

[no] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Ornamental," she supplied, as he hesitated. "Yes, 
I am ornamental and rather frivolous, I know; but 
I can't help wondering whether you wouldn't have 
felt as I did, if you had been in my place." 

"Very likely I should," he admitted. 

"And I also wonder," she went on, "whether you 
could have given up what you have, if you had ever 
known what poverty really is." A shadow came into 
the beautiful eyes looking at him. "It is like being 
starved, — starved in every faculty of one's being," 
she said with an intensity that seemed born of bitter 
memories. "If you could realize this, you'd pardon 
my enjoyment of the good fortune that has come to 
us, even though it came through your loss." 

"But I've nothing to pardon," he assured her. 
"On the contrary, I am absolutely sincere in telling 
you that it is a pleasure to witness your enjoyment, 
and you mustn't grudge me a little satisfaction in 
thinking that I have had a small share in putting you 
where you so clearly belong." 

"You are certainly a remarkable person," she said. 
"'A little satisfaction' and 'a small share,' when it's 
owing to you, and to you alone, that I'm in these 
happy conditions, limousine and all, instead of still 
eating my heart out with discontent and envy in New 
York— " 

"Oh, no," he interposed quickly, "you don't owe 
the change to me, except in a very indirect way! You 
mustn't forget that it was my uncle's unprompted act 
to make your sister his heiress." 

"I wonder why he did?" she murmured. "I've won- 
dered from the first. It was such a very strange thing 
to do — to select a girl whom he didn't even know." 

[in] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"He knew certain things about her which appealed 
to him strongly." 

"That hardly explains his putting so much power 
in her hands. I don't mean that he made a mistake 
in doing so," she added hastily. "So far from that, 
I don't believe he could have found a safer and more 
conscientious heir for his fortune. But the point is 
that he didn't know this." 

"He divined it, then. And I agree with you that 
he made no mistake." 

"Not from his point of view, and certainly not from 
mine," she assented. "But, so far as Honora is con- 
cerned, I'm afraid that she's in danger of taking the 
thing in entirely too conscientious a spirit. She 
doesn't seem able to realize that the fortune is hers, 
to enjoy and do what she will with: her attitude is 
that of one who has been charged with a responsibility 
which she must painstakingly fulfil. Now, there's 
not much gained for her by the inheritance if she is 
going to make herself a slave and drudge to the 
business; and she shouldn't be encouraged in doing 
so." 

"I hope you don't think that I encourage her in 
such deplorable industry?" 

"Perhaps not, but I want you to discourage her 
as far as possible. Here's an example of what I mean 
this morning. Instead of coming out with me to see 
my portrait, meet pleasant people, and be amused, 
she stays in to discuss factory improvements with 
you." 

"But I'm really not to blame, since she asked 
me — 

"Of course she asked you, and I'm not blaming 

[112] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

you at all. But you must see that it's unnecessary for 
her to be worrying over business details like this; 
so pray discourage her as much as you can. And now 
you'd better go back, or she will think that I have 
carried you off, as I threatened. I won't ask you if 
you would like to go, since you can't. So good-bye!" 

She nodded gaily, and the next moment he stood 
watching the luxurious car as it glided away, with a 
smile which Cecily would hardly have understood if 
she had seen it. 

The smile was still on his lips and in his eyes when 
he re-entered the room where Honora was waiting 
for him; and she, too, smiled sympathetically as she 
looked at him. 

"Cecily has evidently amused you," she said. 

"She always amuses me," he answered frankly; 
"she is so outspoken in all that she thinks or desires. 
Just now she has been confiding to me her fears about 
you." 

"And what does she fear about me?" 

"Don't you know? That you are taking your 
inheritance too seriously; that you are not enjoying 
it as you should, but are making yourself a slave and 
drudge — those were her expressions — to the business." 

"But I am not doing anything of the kind," Honora 
said quietly. "Cecily simply doesn't understand that 
there are things in life more important than enjoying 
oneself. You see, she is so young, and she has been so 
starved for enjoyment that it is only natural she should 
be intensely eager for it, and unable to realize that 
everyone is not so eager as she is." 

cr That was her word — 'starved,'" Bernard said. 
"But surely you were starved also, and more than 

[113] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

she, since your work was harder, and the burden of 
responsibility rested on you, unless I am mistaken." 

"But that made it easier instead of harder," Honora 
answered. "If one's thoughts are absorbed by one's 
work and one's responsibilities, one hasn't time to 
long for what one hasn't got. I never even thought 
of enjoyment: it was a thing too remote from my life." 
'Then there's all the more reason you should 
think of it now," he told her with energy. "Upon 
my soul, I believe your sister is right, and that you 
need to be stirred to enjoy the freedom and fortune 
that has come to you, instead of taking up a burden 
of work with which there's really no need that you 
should trouble yourself." 

'There's the need that I could not be satisfied 
otherwise," she said. "I should feel as if I were 
receiving everything and giving nothing. Besides, I 
have what Cecily regards as the perverted taste of 
liking work. It interests me. For instance, I am 
keenly interested in these improvements in the factories 
which you have suggested. Shall we decide about them 
now?" 

"May I say a few words first?" He sat down in 
a chair beside the desk at which she was seated, and 
looked at her with a rather deprecating expression in 
his eyes. "I am afraid," he said, "that I was hasty 
in suggesting so many improvements. They will require 
a great deal of money — " 

"But you said that the money was available for 
the purpose." 

"So it is: but it is the accumulation of the income; 
and if you devote it to this purpose you can't use it 
for other purposes, you know." 

[114] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Really" (she laughed a little) "that is quite 
evident. But why should I want to use it for other 
purposes?" 

"It's possible that you might," he urged. "You 
haven't been in this new position long enough to be 
able to tell what you may or may not wish to do, what 
need you may have for money. I am quite sure that 
before deciding to spend so large a sum as the proposed 
improvements call for you should wait a little." 

"I see that Cecily has been talking to you to some 
purpose," Honora remarked. "But you are mistaken 
in thinking that I have not settled what I intend to 
spend of an income which is much larger than I shall 
require." 

"You can't possibly be sure of that yet." 

"But I am sure of it." She spoke with decision. 
"Let me remind you that I have had the advantage 
of a business training in more ways than one, and 
that system in the expenditure of money therefore 
comes easily to me. I know exactly what I shall need 
to spend of the income, and I shall not exceed that 
amount." 

"You are certainly taking your inheritance in a 
Spartan spirit," he commented. "But why limit 
yourself so severely? And aren't you leaving out of 
your calculations a young lady who thinks that money 
is of use only to purchase pleasure?" 

"Cecily has her allowance, which she can spend 
as she likes," Honora replied. "That has been 
arranged; and I shall not let her ideas influence my 
expenditures." 

A gleam of laughter came into Bernard's eyes. 

"I have not had the pleasure of knowing Cecily 

[115] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

very long," he observed, "but I would nevertheless 
be willing to wager a good deal that her ideas will 
influence your expenditures more than you count 
upon. And why not? Why practise an economy for 
which there is no need? The fortune is yours without 
restriction, and you are accountable to no one for 
the manner in which you spend it." 

"I am accountable to my own conscience," she said; 
"and that tells me that I must avoid extravagance, 
and administer the estate carefully as — as I'm sure 
Mr. Chisholm would have wished me to do." 

"You don't seem able to rid yourself of the idea 
that the estate is still Mr. Chisholm's," Bernard told 
her. '"Our last robe is made without pockets,' you 
know; and he has nothing more to do with it." 

"His wishes have a great deal to do with it for 
me," she answered. "I am anxious that everything 
shall be done as he would have desired, and that means 
as you desire." 

"As / desire!" he echoed in surprise. "Why do 
you say that?" 

"Because I know — everybody knows — that he 
desired nothing so much as to entrust all his interests 
to you," she answered. "He had such entire confi- 
dence in your ability to carry on his work as he wished 
it carried on; but you disappointed him, and he was 
obliged to find a substitute. Oh, I don't see how you 
could have done it!" she broke off reproachfully. 
"Living here in his house, I feel more and more how 
hard he must have found it to put a stranger in your 
place." 

"And don't you feel at all how hard it was to 
me — to disappoint him?" the young man asked in a 

[116] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

low tone. "It was, I assure you, the hardest thing I 
was ever called upon to do." 

"But were you called upon to do it?" she 
questioned. "Shouldn't the human claims of affection 
and gratitude have made you spare him — made you 
pause in what you wished to do — or at least wait?" 

"You are not thinking of what you are saying," 
he told her. "To wait would have been the worst 
betrayal: it would have been to take by falsity what 
he would never have given had he known the truth. 
No : it has to be a clear issue for him to face as well 
as for me, — a clear choice to be made." 

"But why?" she demanded. "What rendered the 
compulsion so great? What, after all, were you doing 
but following your own wishes and fancies?" 

"Is that all that it seems to you?" he asked a 
little wonderingly. "Do you believe that merely to 
follow my own wishes and fancies I could have given 
such disappointment to one to whom I owed so much, 
not to speak of the other loss involved? I thought — 
though I had really no right to think anything of the 
kind — that you would understand better what was 
involved." 

"No, I don't understand," she confessed. "At first 
I was struck with admiration of the sacrifice you had 
made — of all you had given up for the sake of a 
conviction. It seemed absolutely heroic. You see, I 
was thinking only of your side of the matter. But 
since I've been here I've thought more of the other 
side, — of the old man who cared so much for you, 
and whom you disappointed so cruelly; and it seems 
to me now — forgive me, but I must say it!— that 
there was more selfishness than heroism in your action." 

[117] 



< « A lM 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

He nodded. "You are quite right," he said. 
There was more selfishness than heroism in my 
action; in fact, I am unable to see that there was 
any heroism at all." 

"Then why — " she began again and paused. 

"Why was I so selfish?" he took up her question. 
"Why did I think more of following a certain light 
of conviction which had come to me than of gratifying 
the wishes and deferring to the prejudices of an old 
man whose hopes and affections were centred on me? 
Well, there's only one answer to that. You can't 
have forgotten who it was that said, ' He that loveth 
father or mother' or anybody or anything else on 
earth 'more than Me, is not worthy of Me.'" 

She looked at him with eyes full of curious wonder. 

"No, I haven't forgotten it — at least not alto- 
gether," she said. "But aren't you straining the 
application of the words? They can't mean that 
everything and everybody must be given up when 
it becomes a question of entering the Catholic Church? 
It's possible to love Him — outside of that Church." 

"To some people, yes," Bernard conceded. "But 
there are others to whom it is clearly shown that that 
is the only way; and — and, you see, there's no choice 
but to follow the light when it is given, no matter 
at what cost to oneself or to others." 

"It is a terrible doctrine," she said, shivering a 
little. "It is not strange that the world has rebelled 
against it." 

"I don't want to preach to you," he replied, with 
a smile, "or I might quote something very apposite 
about the world. But you'll let me say that one who 
has shown such devotion to high ideals of duty and 

[118] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

such disregard of self as you have in your life ought 
to be able to understand these things more clearly." 

"Ah, but my devotion has been to human ties, to 
the duties of human relationship!" she answered. "I 
have always felt that one must be faithful to these 
or else one is worthless." 

"You felt rightly," he said; "and, happily, they 
do not often conflict with a higher duty. But if they 
do—" 

He paused, and looked around the room in which 
they sat, as if recalling such a conflict which had once 
been fought out here. Then, as his eyes came back 
to meet hers, she seemed to catch a glimpse of what 
that conflict had cost him. 

"If only one could take all the pain upon oneself," 
he said, "things would be easy. But human life is 
inextricably complicated; and to hurt others — those 
who care for us, and who don't understand — that is 
something beside which loss of fortune is insignificant." 

"I could never do it!" she declared passionately. 
"Nothing which concerned myself alone could ever 
make me do it." 

She was aware that there was something like com- 
passion in the eyes which still rested on her, and after 
a moment — 

"I was about to say that I hoped you would never 
be tried in such a manner," Bernard told her; "but, 
after all, that would not be to hope the best for you — 
and I think you are worthy of the best." 

She put up her hands, as if pushing the suggestion 
away from her. 

"No, no!" she cried. "I am not worthy of what 
you mean by the best, and — and I hope I may never 

[119] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

be tested in such a way. I should not be able to do 
what you have done; for I see now that to have given 
up the fortune was the smallest part of the sacrifice. 
To wound affection, to disappoint hope — that was 
hardest; and I beg your pardon for having been so 
obtuse as not to know it." 

"I am quite sure that you are never obtuse," he 
told her gently. "But I have talked enough about 
myself; and now, since you insist upon it, we'll look 
over the plans and estimates of work to be done in 
connection with the factories." 



[ 120] 



CHAPTER X. 

AFTER Bernard had taken his departure with 
the plans — very much reduced — for factory im- 
provements, Honora remained where he had 
left her, and, leaning her arms on the desk by which 
she sat, looked out of an open window over the beautiful 
gardens, filled with all the glory of the Southern 
spring, — a glory of leaf and flower, of scented air and 
sunshine, almost intoxicating to one who had been 
so long confined within narrow city walls. She drew 
a deep breath as the fragrance of unnumbered blossom- 
ing trees and shrubs was borne to her on the soft 
breeze that entered; but she did not stir from her 
seat to go out into the alluring paradise of flowers 
and sunshine which invited her. She was, in fact, 
too deeply absorbed in her thoughts to think of 
moving. And these thoughts were not cheerful, as 
her face plainly showed; for she was facing the 
realization that she had not made the faintest progress 
toward fulfilling the wishes of Mr. Chisholm, — those 
wishes which she felt to be so strongly binding upon 
her honor and her conscience. She had indeed suc- 
ceeded in keeping Bernard Chisholm in touch with 
the interests of the estate that should have been his; 
but the more she saw of him the more she felt that 
there was little gained by this, so far as the object she 
had chiefly in view was concerned. His mental atti- 

[121] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

tude showed no sign of change; and how, she asked 
herself despairingly, was she to bring about such a 
change? 

"He has no regret," she told herself. "He has 
accepted the loss which he has incurred as if he had 
gained rather than lost, and gained something so 
great that the loss is not to be compared with it. 
Now, what is there to work upon in such a spirit as 
that? And yet the condition on which I am here is 
that I shall find a way to work upon him. I can't take 
all that has been given me, and do nothing toward 
the end for which it was given. But what am I to do? 
What possible means of influence have I? And how 
could I dare to use such means if I had them? He is 
so certain of his belief, and I am certain of nothing 
except that I am alive, and that love and duty are 
as much alive as I am." 

She paused and meditated. Certain unforgettable 
words of the letter she had read many times since 
she read it first were printed on her memory, and 
recurred to her now as distinctly as if spoken by 
another voice: "In return for what I am giving you — 
large wealth and the power and ease it brings, — / ask 
that you will make every possible effort to draw Bernard 
from the errors into which he has fallen. It seems to 
me that you are pecidiarly fitted to do this." She shook 
her head here in protest. "Oh, I am not, — indeed 
I am not!" she said, as if addressing some unseen 
presence. "I am not fitted at all for such a task. I 
have no arguments for his mind, if arguments would 
move him; and — and none of the attractions on 
which you relied for personal influence. There is 
nothing less possible than that he would wish to do 

[ 122 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

anything for me — -especially so tremendous a thing as 
to give up the religion for which he has sacrificed so 
much. I am, so far as I can see, utterly without 
power to move him; and yet I am bound in honor to 
make the effort for the sake of which all this wealth 
and ease have been given me. But how am I to make 
it?" 

Again she paused, and again, as if in answer to 
her questions, the words of the letter came to her 
mind : ' ' You are a young and, I have reason to believe, 
attractive woman; you have proved that you possess 
unusual qualities of character, and more than ordinary 
good sense. These things will be likely to appeal to him 
strongly." "But they do not!" she cried again pro- 
testingly. "Those are not the things that appeal to 
men. How could you think so? They are moved by 
beauty, and by the subtle power called charm, of 
which I have none. Now, Cecily has both; and if he 
falls in love with her — and it seems as if nothing were 
more likely, — what am I to do in that case? I am 
warned that I must not marry him (supposing that 
he wanted to marry me) until I have 'induced him 
to renounce Romanism.' But Cecily would not regard 
such a prohibition, and Cecily is my natural heir. 
Is it by this means that Bernard is to regain his 
inheritance? But if he did not renounce his religion, 
that wouldn't fulfil the condition on which it was 
given to me." She shook her head in sad perplexity. 
"It is a difficult situation, and I wish — oh, how I 
wish there were some one whose advice I could ask, — 
some one who could tell me what I am or am not 
conscientiously bound to do! Catholics surely have a 
great source of relief and help in their confessional; 

[ 123 1 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

but" (whimsically) "that, no doubt, is something of 
which I'm forbidden even to think." 

She fell into silence then; and as she gazed out 
over the lovely vistas of the sunshine-flooded, flower- 
filled pleasance before her, where countless birds were 
filling the air with their thrilling music, and every- 
thing breathed of the joy of life, all the youth in her 
suddenly sprang up and asserted itself. The inalien- 
able, passionate desire of youth for happiness — that 
desire so long repressed that she had almost forgotten 
its existence — stirred in her veins like strong wine. 
To be happy! — that was surely the supreme thing 
in life; and it was quite true that she had been starved 
for it. Never since childhood had she known even 
a glimmer of happiness until now, — now when fortune 
was poured upon her in a flood, when the gratification 
of every wish was within her reach; and the only 
drawback was a qualm of conscience over the im- 
possible condition made by an old man who was dead. 
After all, was it not folly to think so much of that 
condition, — to feel as if the fortune were not really 
her own, but only to be held in trust for its rightful 
heir? The rightful heir had, however, forfeited it by 
his deliberate choice, — he was insistent upon that. 
And, since there seemed no possibility of inducing 
him to reconsider that choice, was it not the part of 
wisdom to put thoughts of the kind away, and, as 
Cecily constantly urged, take all that had been so 
lavishly given, and enjoy the wide, wonderful world 
to which wealth furnished the key? 

It was as she asked these questions that she became 
aware of the presence of a servant at her elbow, holding 
out a silver tray on which lay a card. Taking it up, 

[124] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

she found a name unknown to her — "Miss Raines- 
ford," — and a glance of "interrogation at the maid 
elicited only the information, "An elderly lady, 
ma'am." 

Honora rose reluctantly; but there seemed no 
particular reason for excusing herself, although the 
hour was early for calling: rather a special motive for 
courtesy, since the visitor was an elderly lady, and 
she had been trained in the old-fashioned belief that 
there is a deference due from youth to age. She was 
glad that she had followed this impulse when she 
entered the drawing-room, where one of the most 
attractive-looking women she had ever seen came 
forward to meet her. Elderly, yes,— there could be 
no doubt of that. But how charming in the refined 
grace of her person and bearing, and in the mingled 
brightness and sweetness of her delicately chiselled 
face, from which the gray hair was rolled softly back, 
and out of which looked dark-lashed eyes of violet- 
blue! She held out a perfectly gloved hand, as she 
said in a voice full of melodious intonations: 

"My dear Miss Trezevant, I am so glad to meet 
you! And I trust you'll excuse me for calling at so 
unfashionable an hour. But I met Bernard Chisholm 
a little while ago, and he encouraged me to come, 
saying that you were at home, and probably disengaged." 

"Altogether disengaged," Honora assured her; adding 
with a smile: "It was kind of Bernard to encourage 
3 r ou to come; for he knew I was alone." 

"So he said. And I felt the opportunity was not 
to be lost; for I've been wanting to find you alone. 
Not that I have anything important or mysterious 
to say ; but simply because I have a desire to know you, 

[125] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and one can't know people whom one meets in a 
crowd. And sometimes even three is a crowd." 

"Isn't there a popular saying to that effect?" 
Honora laughed. "I understand what you mean. 
One can know people in any real sense only when one 
sits down to talk to them alone." 

"As we are sitting now," Miss Rainesford agreed 
in a tone of satisfaction. "This is what I have been 
waiting for, and I consider my meeting with Bernard 
this morning a very lucky chance. Perhaps you 
wonder why I have been so anxious to know you," 
she went on, after a slight pause. "It hasn't, I assure 
you, been merely from curiosity, because you have 
suddenly and romantically come into possession of a 
fortune which you could never have expected to 
inherit — ■" » 

"Not more than I expected to be called to mount 
one of the thrones of Europe," Honora assented. 

"It has really been," Miss Rainesford continued, 
"because I've been interested by all that I've heard 
of you, and particularly by what I've heard from 
Bernard Chisholm. You see, I know him very well, 
and I must congratulate you on the fact that your 
relations with him are so friendly." 

"How could they be anything else?" Honora asked. 
"He seems to be a person with whom it would be 
impossible to have other than friendly relations. And 
in my case there's every reason why they should be 
more than friendly. I have so much that should be 
his, you know." 

"I'm quite sure that he doesn't think so — that it 
should be his, I mean," Miss Rainesford said quickly. 
"He gave it up in the most complete sense when he 

[ 126] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

made his choice; and there's not a doubt but that 
he is glad, very glad, that you have gained what he 
has lost. He thinks very highly of you; in fact, he's 
absolutely enthusiastic about the way in which you 
have taken up your new responsibilities. ' It's amazing 
how things have fallen out,' he said to me the other 
day. 'I believe that Miss Trezevant will do all that I 
could have hoped to do with the estate and the people 
connected with it.'" 

"Oh, it's kind of him to speak like that, — very 
kind!" Honora exclaimed. "But the truth is that I 
should not be able to do anything without him; and 
the only merit I have in the matter is that of carrying 
out his ideas and following his suggestions." 

"But don't you see how admirable and remarkable 
it is of you to do that?" Miss Rainesford asked. "It 
is what has made me want to know you — your atti- 
tude toward Bernard. There are so few young girls 
whose heads would not have been completely turned 
by such power and wealth unexpectedly given; and 
who would not think chiefly of the possibilities of 
enjoyment which are opened, rather than of duties to 
be fulfilled." 

'You must not give me too much credit for that," 
Honora told her. "I have had a training which made 
it easy for me to think of duties; indeed, I have never, 
since I was fifteen, been free to think of anything else." 

There was a very kindly light in the violet eyes 
that rested on her. 

"Perhaps you'll not understand me if I say that 
you have been fortunate to have been trained so 
well," Miss Rainesford remarked. "But the training 
doesn't detract in the least from your merit, as you 

[ 127 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

seem to think. My dear, don't you know that there 
are people — oceans of them — who couldn't be trained 
to think of duty before anything else?" 

"Oh, yes!" Honora was obliged to confess. "I 
know that there are such people. But, so far as I am 
concerned, you mustn't make a mistake. I simply 
couldn't have done anything else but what I did." 

"Being what you are, probably not. But if you 
had been a different person, you would speedily have 
decided that your first duty was to yourself, and that 
you would not sacrifice your life to others. That's 
the modern creed." 

"Yes," Honora assented again, while involuntarily 
her thoughts turned to Cecily. How impossible it 
was to imagine Cecily sacrificing herself for anything 
or anybody! "But since I wasn't a different person, 
it comes to the same point, that I don't deserve com- 
mendation for what I couldn't help doing," she pro- 
tested. "To obtain merit, there must have been 
struggle, mustn't there?" 

There was keenness as well as kindness in the 
eyes that looked at her now. 

"I fancy there may have been more than you 
think," Miss Rainesford said. "But if there were 
struggles you'd come out right. I'm sure of that, and 
so is Bernard." 

"Is he?" Honora felt herself flushing a little. "That 
is very good of him, but please don't let us talk any 
more about me. Let us talk a little of him instead. 
I have been wanting some one to interpret him for 
me, and I feel as if you may be able to do so." 

"What interpretation do you want?" Miss Raines- 
ford asked. 

[128] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Well" — Honora hesitated for a moment, — "I 
should like to understand if possible some things about 
him that appear very contradictory. He seems so 
entirely a normal young man, full of interest in life, 
gay and pleasant, keen about business, and not averse 
to pleasure; and yet he has done a thing which is 
abnormal: he has made a sacrifice which one would 
expect only from a religious fanatic, and he isn't a 
fanatic." 

Miss Rainesford shook her head smilingly. 

"He is certainly not a fanatic," she said; "but I 
don't wonder that what he has done puzzles you as 
it puzzles others." She paused for an instant. "It 
isn't really possible for any one but a Catholic to 
understand it," she added. 

A flash of intuition came to Honora. 

"Then you are — ?" she began. 

"A Catholic?" the other took up her sentence. 
"Yes, thank God, I am a Catholic, and, like Bernard, 
a convert! So, you see, I ought to understand, and 
perhaps be able to interpret him." 

"And that is why you are such good friends," the 
girl said, with a thrill of interest. "Did you perhaps 
influence — help to make him a Catholic?" 

Again Miss Rainesford shook her head. 

"I had nothing whatever to do with his conver- 
sion," she said. "Those outside the Church are unable 
to believe it, but personal influence doesn't make 
converts. Sometimes it points the way, but only the 
grace of God brings people into the Church. I never 
saw the grace of God act more directly on a human 
soul than on Bernard Chisholm's, and I never saw 
a more prompt and wholehearted response than his. 

[ 129] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

He seemed to rise up in answer to the divine call, and 
fling away with positive gladness what would have 
held a weaker soul so securely back." 

"That is what is most puzzling about him — his 
gladness," Honora said. "I asked him once to tell me 
what it was he had gained which made amends for 
all that he had lost, but he didn't answer the question. 
Perhaps he thought I couldn't understand." 

Miss Rainesford flashed another keen glance at 
her. 

"Can't you think of any other reason for his 
reticence?" she asked. "Don't you know that Catholics 
are suspected of trying to make converts all the time? 
As a rule, we don't make efforts of the kind; but some- 
times the answer to a question will rouse a train of 
thought which leads very far. Now, it would be 
awkward if such a train of thought were roused with 
you, wouldn't it?" 

"Why necessarily?" 

"Well, you see, he couldn't explain what he had 
gained, without putting the claims of the Catholic 
Church before you; and those claims are so irresistible 
to a soul capable of recognizing and feeling them 
that you might — you'll understand that I'm merely 
indulging in a hypothesis — have found yourself in a 
difficult position." 

Honora's eyes met hers with the utmost frankness. 

"Of course I understand what you mean," she 
said. " You think that it would be dangerous for me 
to be too curious about the claims of the Catholic 
Church; for I might find myself in the same position 
in which Bernard Chisholm was placed, and I couldn't 
be expected to make such a choice as he made." 

[ 130] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"My dear," Miss Rainesford said quickly, "I 
couldn't possibly mean that you would be unable to 
make such a choice; but it's plain that it would be 
very hard to you — we all know the condition on which 
you hold your fortune, — and naturally Bernard wouldn't 
wish to disturb your good faith." 

"There seems to me to be a good deal of arro- 
gance — spiritual arrogance — in that attitude," Honora 
protested. "Why should the claims of the Catholic 
Church be supposed to be so irresistible that they can 
not be discussed without danger to one's good faith? 
As a matter of fact, we don't find them irresistible; 
for numbers of people discuss them without being 
convinced of their truth." 

"There are many reasons for that," Miss Rainesford 
said. "It's quite possible to discuss a subject with 
a mind closed to conviction. Most of the discussions 
one hears are of that kind. But if one finds an open 
mind! — " She broke off hastily. "You must pardon 
me for talking like this," she said. "It's really not 
at all according to my usual habit; but you asked me 
to interpret Bernard Chisholm, and it isn't possible 
to interpret him except through his religion." 

"I recognize that very clearly," Honora said. 
"I should be very stupid if I didn't. But perhaps I 
wanted an interpretation which you can hardly give. 
For instance, do you think his new faith is so firm 
that nothing could lead him to change his religion 
again?" 

"Change his religion!" Miss Rainesford seemed 
irresistibly impelled to laughter. "If there's anything 
in the world less probable than that, I don't know 
what it is. But your question is one which is often 

[131] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

asked about converts — their friends are always ex- 
pecting them to 'come back,' — and it only proves that 
you don't understand." 

"No, I don't understand," Honora agreed humbly. 
"I've never known anything before of a religion that 
had such mysteries and exacted such sacrifices. The 
religion I've known has been on very good terms with 
the world; there was nothing mysterious about it; 
and it exacted no sacrifices, because it had no power 
to enforce them. So, you see, when I have come face 
to face with so tremendous a sacrifice as Bernard 
Chisholm has made — when I am in the position of 
profiting by it, — I can't be other than a little 
curious." 

"It's very natural that you should be," Miss 
Rainesford said sympathetically; "and I wish that I 
felt at liberty to satisfy your curiosity fully. But" 
(she shook her head as if admonishing herself) "it 
wouldn't do, — it really wouldn't do! So you must 
just be satisfied that Bernard has no regrets for what 
he feels that he was very fortunate to have something 
to give in return for the great grace given to him, — 
and that all you have to do is to enjoy the good 
fortune which has come to you." 

'That is what everybody says, including Bernard 
himself," Honora replied a little wistfully; "and of 
course I am unspeakably grateful for all that has 
come to me, — for relief from poverty and distasteful 
work, and fear of the future, and other fears even 
worse. But still — " 

And then she paused; for how could she go on, 
since it was not possible for her to give even a hint of 
the secret bequest which had been added to the other 

[ 132 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

bequest left her, and which lay so heavily as a burden 
upon her conscience? 

"But still you are pitying the young man who 
has disinherited himself," Miss Rainesford said, smiling. 
"Don't do it, my dear, — don't do it! There's nobody 
less an object for pity than Bernard Chisholm." 

"That, too, is what everybody says," Honora 
laughed, though the laughter was rather tremulous. 

"Then heed what everybody says," Miss Rainesford 
advised her. "And now you must let me thank you for 
having kept him in Kingsford. It would have broken 
my heart to lose him out of my life; and, as you 
probably know, he had made his arrangements to 
go away." 

"No, I didn't know," Honora said a little breath- 
lessly. "Where was he going?" 

"To South America. He had heard of a business 
opening in Buenos Aires, and the idea of going there 
was very attractive to him." 

"And yet he gave it up to remain here." 

"You appealed to him to help you, and it was 
like Bernard to find the appeal irresistible. He 
realized how valuable his help was, and how difficult 
it would be for you to find any one to replace him in 
the management of the business." 

"And so he stayed in a position which he might 
have felt humiliating to his pride." 

"But he didn't. He hasn't any pride of that kind 
to be humiliated. Only small natures suffer in that 
way, and he — well, he isn't small, you know." 

"He's large in a way that I've never known before," 
Honora said. "But I see now that I shouldn't have 
put him to such a test; I shouldn't have made such 

[ 133 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

a demand on his chivalry, for that's what it was. No 
wonder, Mr. Maxwell was amazed, and thought I 
shouldn't have done it." 

"I differ with Mr. Maxwell, then," Miss Raines- 
ford declared emphatically. "I think it was a lovely 
thing for you to do; and I know, and he knows, that 
it was from no selfish motive, but because you wanted 
to provide for him that you did it. There was no need 
to provide for him, but you didn't know that; and 
your generous impulse has had the good result of 
keeping him with us a little longer, and of making 
you two good friends." 

"I hope we are good friends," Honora said, and 
paused again because she could not explain the motive 
that had chiefly influenced her in begging Bernard 
Chisholm to remain. 



I 134] 



CHAPTER XL 

THE studio where Julian Page had set up his 
easel with a view to perpetuating upon canvas 
the new order, which, artistically speaking, he 
found little worthy of perpetuation and sadly un- 
interesting to the artist soul, was in one of the modern, 
many-storied buildings which had so greatly trans- 
formed Kingsford. It was the newest and tallest of 
them all, and had been built by Mr. Chisholm as an 
investment, on the site of a quaint old hostelry that 
dated back to Colonial days, and had had the dis- 
tinction of entertaining many noted figures of the 
past within its low-ceiled rooms. With the rest of 
the estate, the great building now belonged to Honora; 
and Cecily was conscious of an ever-renewed thrill 
of pleasure when she entered the great, stone-carved 
doorway, passed across a marble-paved vestibule, and 
was wafted upward by an elevator, which seemed 
less a convenience for the public than a concrete symbol 
of prosperity for herself. 

The studio was in the highest story, with a glorious 
outlook from the windows over the picturesque, rolling 
country surrounding the town, and stretching away 
to a blue line of distant mountains. Spacious and 
airy, the large room was the better for not being 
encumbered with much furniture, and for little or 
no attempt at decoration. When Cecily, with the 

[i35] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

recollection of some other studios in her mind, had 
commented on this, Julian shrugged his shoulders. 

"It's more workmanlike," he said; "and I'm here 
simply to do work — not to make an aesthetic atmos- 
phere, and entertain aesthetic friends. You are the first 
artist whom I have had the pleasure of receiving; 
and you are as unexpected as an archangel could have 
been." 

Cecily laughed. 

"It certainly was not worth while to prepare an 
artistic milieu for such an apology for an artist as I 
am," she said. "Besides, I like this freshness of space. 
It looks as if you were in earnest and bent on business. 
Draperies and armor, and divans and cushions, would 
seem out of place here, and the mill-owners and their 
wives and daughters might think you were only 
playing at portrait-painting." 

"I'll convince them that I'm not, when I've painted 
you," he replied. 

But his confidence in his ability to catch her 
elusive loveliness was very much shaken in the time 
that followed; and when he finally declared that he 
could do no more to her portrait — that, in fact, he was 
afraid to add another touch to it — he was so far from 
satisfied with the result of his labor that, on the 
morning appointed for its inspection, Edith Selwyn, 
who was the first to arrive, found him standing before 
the picture with what was for him a very gloomy 
expression of countenance. 

"Why, it's charming!" she cried, as she entered and 
saw the radiant vision which smiled at her from the 
canvas on the tall easel. "How could you possibly 
slander yourself by saying anything else?" 

[136] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Do you really think so?" he asked, turning round 
with a perceptible lightening of the gloom of his face. 
"You're not saying so merely to cheer me up?" 

"Nonsense! You are in no need of being cheered," 
she returned. "It's delightful, — you must know it is 
delightful! One might think it had been painted by 
Romney or Gainsborough, or some other of the old 
English painters." 

"Oh, come!" he remonstrated. "That's a little too 
strong even for my vanity to swallow." 

"But it's true," she insisted. "It's in their style, 
and amazingly like them." 

"Well, of course there's an attempt at imitation of 
the style," he confessed. "It suddenly struck me how 
much she resembles the beauties of that day, as we 
see them on the canvases of Sir Joshue and Gains- 
borough and Romney; so I've deliberately given an 
eighteenth-century air to the picture. That's one 
thing I'm doubtful about now. It seems an absurd 
affectation for such a type of modernity as Cecily 
Trezevant." 

"Not a bit of it!" Edith pronounced. "Cecily 
Trezevant is there, with all her modernity, though she 
has the aspect and surroundings of the eighteenth 
century; but that only makes her more piquant." 

"I'm glad you think so," a gay voice behind them 
exclaimed; and Cecily came in, bringing, as it seemed, 
the brightness of the spring day with her. "I'm glad 
you recognize that he has succeeded at last," she 
went on, slipping her arm through Edith's as they 
stood before the easel. "He has been so discouraged, 
that he doesn't see himself what a charming thing he 
has done. It is charming, isn't it? Positively I've 

[i37] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

fallen quite in love with myself as I'm represented 
there." 

"I don't wonder," Mrs. Selwyn laughed. "Any 
one might fall in love with so adorable a creature. 
And it isn't merely a lovely picture: it's an excellent 
likeness, too." 

"Didn't I tell you so?" Cecily inquired, with a nod 
of her head toward the artist, whose gloom was rapidly 
vanishing under the sunshine of such commendation. 

And, in truth, it was not only a lovely picture, but 
also an excellent likeness of Cecily in one of her most 
characteristic moments. It had been a happy inspira- 
tion of Julian's to place the charming figure against 
such a background of woodland glade and soft green 
shadow as Sir Joshua himself might have painted, — 
the graceful, nymph-like form, in its simple, clinging 
dress, standing with hands and arms full of flowers, 
and a garden hat fallen back on the shoulders, to show 
the glory of sunlit hair; while the beautiful face looked 
out of the canvas with Cecily's own smile on the lips 
and in the eyes, — a provocative and faintly mocking 
smile of subtle sweetness. 

"Julian, you've accomplished something really 
wonderful in that expression," Edith went on, turning 
her gaze from the portrait to its original, and back 
again. "And, whether you meant it or not, it's the 
contrast that is so arresting, — idyllic simplicity, which 
the girlish figure and all the accessories suggest, together 
with the smile of a siren. Where did you learn that 
smile?" she broke off, addressing Cecily. "It's too 
sophisticated for any one so young as you are." 

"That's where the note of modernity comes in," 
Julian said before Cecily could reply. 'The modern 

[138] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

girl is more sophisticated in her teens than her grand- 
mother was at fifty. That's what I meant to indicate, 
and I'm tremendously glad to know that I've 
succeeded." 

"I hope you'll succeed as well in painting Honora's 
soul as my smile," Cecily remarked. 'You remember 
the agreement was that you were to paint her soul? 
But I don't know when you will have a chance to 
try; for she is so absorbed in business — all kinds of 
wretched details — that there's no getting hold of 
her. I couldn't even induce her to come and see this 
portrait this morning. She preferred to stay at home 
and talk factory improvements with Bernard Chisholm." 
"So Bernard was with her!" Julian commented. 
"Then it's not surprising she stayed. He has an unholy 
passion for working, that fellow, and for making other 
people work if he can." 

"I'll do him the justice to say that he isn't account- 
able for Honora's working," Cecily explained magnan- 
imously. "She has a passion of that kind herself, and 
it was more her fault than his that she didn't come 
with me." 

"But she can see the portrait at any time, now that 
it's finished," Mrs. Selwyn observed; "while business 
really is important, you know. And it's charming 
that she and Bernard Chisholm should be such good 
friends, and work together. It's something that could 
hardly have been expected." 

"It's exactly what could have been expected of 
Honora," Cecily said; "though of course if Bernard 
had been a different kind of person she wouldn't have 
succeeded in making a friend of him. As it is, I think 
his attitude is a great deal more surprising than hers." 

[ 139] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

'They are both surprising enough," Edith agreed; 
"but his does astonish everybody to a remarkable 
degree. Bobby — that's my husband — was talking about 
it yesterday. He has the highest possible opinion of 
Bernard, but he simply can't understand him." 

"Of course he can't," said Julian. "How could he? 
Selwyn is the most practical of men, and Bernard's 
a confounded idealist,— so there you are!" 

"Bobby has ideals, too, though they are rather 
well concealed," Edith said. "Please make a note of 
the fact when you come to paint his portrait, and 
don't represent him as just a commonplace, self- 
satisfied business man." 

"I'll try to throw a glamour of idealism about 
him," Julian promised; "though I must say that he's 
not a type to suggest anything of the kind; and I'm 
afraid this demand that I shall paint souls is going to 
become embarrassing. I'd much rather paint your 
portrait than Selwyn's," he added frankly. "You are 
a delightful subject for the brush." 

"Delightful!" Cecily agreed enthusiastically. "But 
there mustn't be anything idyllic — no woodland glades 
and flowers— about her portrait. It must be a grande 
dame picture, — a stately princess in rich clothes and 
jewels, with eyes as bright as her jewels." 

The bright eyes looked at her laughingly. 

"You're a flatterer," Edith said. "But I'll do my 
best to attain the grande dame pose, — for of course 
I've expected to have my portrait also painted, though 
I haven't been very keen about it till I've seen this 
lovely thing of you. So you may consider yourself 
engaged to paint Mr. and Mrs. Robert Selwyn," she 
went on, turning to Julian. "And for goodness' sake 

[ Mo] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

give as much of an air of distinction to Bobby as 
possible; for I don't want future generations to look 
at our portraits and remark, 'How could that — er — 
distinguished-looking woman have married such a very- 
ordinary man?'" 

"I'll do my best," Julian assured her. "But I'm 
afraid you'll have to wait a little, for engagements are 
piling in upon me rather fast; and I must paint Miss 
Trezevant's portrait, you know." 

"She's a delightful subject, too," Edith said. "I've 
never seen a more charming face than hers. And what 
is her pose to be?" 

"Like herself — absolutely simple and unpretending," 
the artist replied. "I couldn't think of painting her 
in any other way; and I only hope I'll succeed in putting 
some suggestion of her charm on my canvas." 

"Oh, you will! After that" (the speaker indicated 
Cecily's portrait by a nod) "I have the utmost faith in 
your skill; although I'm well aware that the same 
degree of interest can not be expected in other people's 
portraits. Now I must run away. Cecily, are you 
coming also? May I take you anywhere? My car's 
at the door." 

"So is mine," Cecily responded proudly. "It's 
like all the rest of the fairy-tale. Cinderella's pumpkin 
coach has taken the very modern form of a fine 
limousine. Of course I made Honora get it; for, left 
to herself, she would have continued to drive about 
with Mr. Chisholm's old-fashioned carriage and 
horses." 

"I'm devoted to horses," said Edith Selwyn, with 
a sigh for the memory of the beautiful creatures she 
had known and loved. "But Bobby likes automobiles, 

[141] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and it seems hardly worth while to keep both. Then 
if you're not coming — " 

"No, she can't go," Julian interposed; "for I've 
a few more touches that I want to put on the portrait." 

"Take care how you put more touches on what 
is already perfect," Edith warned him. "Good-bye, 
then! And many congratulations on the success of 
the picture! Don't forget my bridge party to-morrow, 
Cecily, whatever you do." 

She rustled away; and the two, left together, 
looked at each other and smiled, though there was 
a shade of reproof in Cecily's expression. 

"You know that you don't want to put any more 
touches on the portrait," she said. "You remarked 
only yesterday that you wouldn't touch it again for 
anything; so why did you tell such a — fiction?" 

"Simply to keep you a little longer," he answered. 
"But I'll change the statement from fiction to fact." 
He took up a palette and brush, and proceeded to 
put light touches of paint here and there on the canvas, 
while carefully avoiding the face. "I think Mrs. 
Selwyn was tremendously impressed," he observed in 
a gratified tone. "She's clever enough to know clever 
work when she sees it." 

"That picture would impress anybody," Cecily 
said. "It has astonished me. I didn't think you were 
anything like the artist that's revealed there. You 
don't mind my saying so, do you?" 

"Not a bit," he told her sincerely. "I don't expect 
to be taken seriously, never having taken myself seri- 
ously at all. And, to be quite truthful, the picture has 
astonished me. I've been awfully discouraged about 
it, as you know; but now it seems to me by far the 

[ 142 1 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

cleverest thing I've ever done. It's entirely thanks 
to you," he said, turning abruptly toward her. "You've 
furnished the inspiration. I couldn't have achieved 
such a result with any other subject." 

"Oh, yes, you could — you must!" she answered 
quickly. " How else are you going to avoid disappointing 
people? Now that you've found what you can do, 
you must keep on doing it, for your own credit's sake. 
And, having been stimulated to accomplish that 
picture, you ought to find others easy. I'm a difficult 
subject, you know. Many artists have found that out 
before you." 

"I'd like to punch their heads!" Julian observed 
vindictively. "I can't bear to think of other artists 
having painted you. I wish I could believe that I was 
the first to catch the real you, and put the elusive 
personality on canvas." 

"Well, you're the first to catch what Mrs. Selwyn 
calls my siren smile, if that satisfies you," she said. 

"It satisfies me as an artist, but it is very far from 
satisfying me as a man," he told her. "All the time 
I've been painting the smile I've been wondering what 
it meant, as perhaps Leonardo da Vinci wondered over 
the smile of Mona Lisa." 

"I don't believe he wondered at all. I've no doubt 
he interpreted it perfectly." 

"Then you think I should be able to interpret 
yours?" 

"You are not exactly a Leonardo da Vinci," she 
reminded him; "but neither am I Mona Lisa, so 
perhaps you should." 

"I've been studying it ever since I caught and 
put it down there," he said, gazing ruminatively at 

[i43] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the smile in question. "It has haunted and puzzled 
and tantalized me, but at last I seem to have grasped 
the meaning of it. Shall I tell you how I read it, and 
will you tell me if I'm wrong?" 

She nodded from the deep chair in which she was 
sitting. 

"I'll tell you — that is, if I know myself," she 
promised. 

"Well, it seems to me that it says, 'Admire me 
as much as you please, for I like the incense of your 
admiration; love me if you choose, for I rather like 
that, since it's at your own risk; but don't expect any 
return from me, for I'm one of those who take all and 
give nothing.'" 

' ' Upon my word ! ' ' Cecily sat up a little breath- 
lessly. "And you call that interpreting me!" 

"Isn't it true?" he challenged, turning upon her 
again. "Can you put your hand on your heart and 
say that it isn't true?" 

There was a moment's silence, in which they 
looked at each other, — the young man with a sparkle 
in his eye and a seriousness which sat rather oddly 
upon him, and Cecily with a mixture of indignation 
and surprise. But the frankness which was so marked 
a trait of her character at length triumphed. 

"No, I can't say that it isn't true and very 
shrewd," she presently confessed. "I would never 
have given you credit for so much penetration, but 
you've really divined my attitude very well. I do 
like admiration — who doesn't? — and I don't object to 
love, so long as it isn't pressed upon me in an offensive 
manner; but I haven't the faintest intention of making 
myself uncomfortable for the sake of any man." 

[ 144] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"But," the man listening to her cried, "would you 
call it making yourself uncomfortable to accept and 
return love?" 

"I should call it extremely uncomfortable," she 
replied decisively, "since it would interfere with life 
as I've planned it; and I don't intend to let anything 
interfere with that." 

Julian laid down his palette and brush very delib- 
erately, and seated himself beside her. 

"Would you mind telling me how you've planned 
life," he asked, "since love is to be excluded from it?" 

"I didn't say that love was to be absolutely ex- 
cluded from it," she replied. "I only said that I didn't 
intend to allow it to interfere with my plans, as it has 
a great trick of doing, you know." 

"By which I suppose you mean that people some- 
times fall in love in a way that makes it necessary to 
modify their plans of life?" 

"Exactly. And I don't intend to modify mine." 
A certain hardness came into all the lovely lines of 
her face. "Nothing shall make me do that," she 
declared. "We have but one life, and but one youth 
in life; and we are fools if we don't make the very best 
of that. When we were so poor, it nearly maddened 
me that, although I had youth and beauty, I could 
do nothing with them. But the experience educated 
me: it burned all sentiment out of me, and made 
me see what are the things that really count. Then 
when this wonderful fortune came, I determined that 
I would have those things. Life here just now is pleasant 
enough, but it's only a preface to the life I've planned. 
As soon as possible — in other words, as soon as I can 
tear Honora away — I am going into the world, the 

[i45] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

great world abroad, and I mean to have everything 
that can be grasped there. I'm beautiful, am I not?" 

"Very beautiful," he agreed. 

"And clever, — you can't deny that I'm clever?" 

"It's the last thing I should think of denying," 
he assured her. "Your cleverness is as great as your 
beauty." 

"And I'm rich — that is, Honora is rich, which 
amounts to the same thing; so am I not right 
in thinking that the world is before me to conquer 
and gain all that I want?" 

"You are perfectly right," he replied. "I have 
never seen any one better equipped for conquest. 
Youth, beauty, cleverness" (he checked these ad- 
vantages off on his fingers), "money, and carefully 
cultivated lack of sentiment, — all together ought to 
carry you far, and make it easy for you to secure 
whatever you want from the world." 

"Now you are a little bitter," she said reprovingly. 
"It's astonishing how soon and how inevitably a 
man drifts into bitterness when he finds that a woman 
doesn't appreciate his attractions as he thinks they 
should be appreciated." 

"Now you are sarcastic," he returned. "I've never 
had any illusions with regard to the effect of my 
attractions on you. Why on earth should I? I'm only 
a poor devil of a painter, with nothing to offer that 
is in the least degree worth your acceptance, since 
you've cast hearts out of the cards with which you 
play the game of life." 

"And if I hadn't, is there any particular reason 
why I should accept your heart?" she inquired. 

"None — none at all," he hastened to reply. "And 

[146] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

do me the justice to acknowledge that I haven't pressed 
it on your acceptance. I've understood from the 
first that the only part I could be allowed was to burn 
a little incense, and relieve the dulness of a provincial 
environment by amusing you." 

"You are not amusing me now," she told him 
frankly. "And all this isn't a bit like you. It's a 
manifestation of character common enough to men 
when they are— er — " 

"Rejected?" 

"I haven't rejected you, for you've had too much 
good sense to offer yourself; and I hope you'll never 
do anything so foolish. I was about to say, 'when 
they are disappointed.'" 

"But I'm not disappointed," he said, "for the 
very good reason that in order to be disappointed one 
must first have hoped. And I haven't, in your phrase, 
been so foolish as to have had any hope of anything 
different from what I've found. From our first meeting 
I saw clearly that you were intoxicated with the possi- 
bilities of admiration and pleasure which the command 
of money opens to you, and that you had no serious 
thought to give to any one but yourself. Under these 
circumstances, my own thoughts haven't been serious — - 
though I can't deny that I'm very much in love with 
you." 

"There isn't any harm in that," she remarked, 
"as long as you don't expect — " 

"Pray set your mind at rest," he begged. "I 
don't expect anything, except to be allowed to enjoy 
your presence while you condescend to remain with 
us. After that you will no doubt soar into regions 
where a poor painter couldn't hope to follow." 

[i47] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I thought painters could enter anywhere, if they 
were famous and rich enough," she observed. 

"But I am neither famous nor rich," he pointed 

out. 

"There's no reason why you shouldn't be both," 
she said decidedly. "A picture like that" (she looked 
at the portrait on the easel) "ought to open the door 
of fortune for you in a country where art meant 
anything. Of course it doesn't mean anything in 
provincial America; so for heaven's sake, for the 
sake of your own future, get away as quickly as 
possible! Go back to Paris — go anywhere that is in 
the world. Your mother and Alicia would want to 
murder me if they heard me giving you such advice, 
but I shouldn't be your friend if I didn't give it. It 
really won't do for you to waste your time and talent 
painting the nouveau riche of Kingsford." 

"Perhaps not. But it was worth coming back 
to Kingsford to do that," he said — and he, too, looked 
at the portrait. "It has revealed me to myself, as 
well as revealing you; and some day, after I've 
accumulated enough shekels from the nouveau riche 
of whom you speak, I'll go back to the great world 
where by that time you will have made yourself a 
place, and beg to be allowed to paint you again in 
your full development. It ought to be something very 
splendid, that development." 

"It will be," she announced calmly. "You may 
be quite sure of that. I am probably heartless and 
egotistical — you've been telling me quite plainly that 
I am both, — but I am determined to taste life to the 
full, now that the chance is given me. And, after 
all, is there any greater duty than to make the most 

[148] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of ourselves, and cultivate to the utmost whatever 
powers we have? That's the advice I've been offering 
you. And now " (she rose as she spoke) "I'll add another. 
Shut up your studio and come with me. We'll take 
the car and go as far out into the country as we like, 
and spend this glorious day as it should be spent — in 
the open. I couldn't make Bernard Chisholm idle 
with me; but you'll come, I know." 

"Nothing more certain!" he cried, springing up 
joyously. "Count upon me for unlimited idling in 
such companionship." 



[ M9] 



CHAPTER XII. 

HONORA did not see Bernard Chisholm again 
for several days after the visit of Miss Raines- 
ford; but meanwhile she learned something 
about that lady from Alicia Page, who had become a 
frequent and familiar visitor; a certain degree of 
intimacy, though without any really cordial feeling 
on either side, having sprung up between Cecily and 
herself. 

"Miss Rainesford — Helen Rainesford!" the girl 
said in answer to an inquiry. "Of course I know her, — 
everybody knows her. She's General Rainesford's 
daughter. You must remember him?" 

"I'm afraid I don't, — you see, I've been away so 
long," Honora said apologetically. "Do they belong 
here? Are they of the old people?" 

"Oh, yes, indeed! And, like the rest of us, they 
haven't much money. The General has never been 
very successful in business; and now he's too old to 
do anything, so his sons keep up the home for him; 
and Miss Helen takes care of him, and teaches music 
besides. She's a charming woman, only — er — she's a 
Romanist, you know." 

"So she told me, and a great friend of Bernard 
Chisholm's." 

"Yes: people say that she converted him to 
Romanism." 

[150] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"She says that she didn't — that she hardly knew 
him before he became a Catholic. They are of 
different generations, so I can't suppose she did see 
much of him. Young men, as a rule, don't care for the 
society of elderly women." 

"Miss Helen's rather an exception to that rule," 
said Alicia. "She has always been so pretty, and 
she's so pleasant and sympathetic that everybody 
likes her, in spite of her change of religion." 

"But surely that concerns only herself." 

"Well, people don't think so, and in her case it 
made a great difference in her life. She was engaged 
to be married, and after her change of religion she 
broke off the engagement." 

"Why?" 

"The man to whom she was engaged — he was 
one of the Latimers, who've grown rich by manufactur- 
ing, like old Mr. Chisholm — refused to make some 
promises that the priests demand, and therefore she 
wouldn't marry him. I've heard that he felt it dread- 
fully, — so much that he went away from Kingsford. 
But he married somebody else after a while, and 
he's very rich now; while she's an old maid, teaching 
music to support herself. Wasn't she a fool?" 

"I don't know." There was a singular look in 
Honora's eyes as she spoke. It was as if she caught 
a glimpse of something wonderful, mysterious, and 
distant as the stars are from the earth. "I don't 
know," she repeated. "She may have been a fool 
or she ma} 7 have been supremely wise. It is hard to 
tell. But at least it was a heroic choice — if she loved 
the man." 

"I don't see anything heroic in it," Alicia declared. 

[151] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I think her first duty was to the man she loved. 
And she certainly loved him. Everybody who knew 
her is agreed about that. If she wanted to sacrifice 
herself, she had no right to sacrifice him. It is a 
horrible religion," the girl cried vehemently, "that 
takes possession of people, and forces them to do 
such cruel things!" 

"It is at least a real religion, a living force," 
Honora felt impelled to say. "There is no other in 
the world that has power to exact sacrifice, which 
people make not only willingly but gladly. If Miss 
Rainesford regrets her choice, she certainly doesn't 
show it." 

"She's far too proud to show it, but she must 
regret it," Alicia said. "She has not only sacrificed 
her own happiness, but think of all she could have 
done for her father as Hugh Latimer's wife! She 
could have given him ease and comfort in his old 
age. But she sacrificed him also; for, although her 
brothers do what they can, they are struggling men 
with large families, and it's no wonder they are very 
bitter about her conduct." 

"I suppose it is no wonder, as human nature is 
constituted," Honora assented. "That must be the 
hardest part of such a sacrifice— to cause suffering to 
others who don't see the reason or necessity for it," 
she added, while her thoughts went back to some 
words of Bernard Chisholm when she had accused 
him of acting selfishly in disappointing his uncle. 
What divine saying was it he had quoted? "He that 
loveth father, or mother" — or anybody or anything — 
"more than Me is not worthy of Me." Terrible words 
surely if they really meant the necessity for such 

[152] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

sacrifices as he and Helen Rainesford had made! 
"But Bernard doesn't admit that he has suffered 
from his sacrifice," she said, involuntarily uttering 
her thought aloud. 

"No, he doesn't admit it," replied Alicia, who 
did not seem at all surprised at the introduction of 
Bernard's name. "But, whether he admits it or not, 
he has suffered. Think of all that his change of 
religion has cost him! He was brought up in the 
expectation of inheriting his uncle's fortune, and to 
have lost it has altered the whole of life for him, and— 
and for others. Oh, I oughtn't to be saying things 
like this to you!" she broke off, coloring vividly. "I 
don't mean that I'm not glad for you to have the 
fortune, since it had to go to somebody. But it should 
have been Bernard's, you know." 

"Of course it should have been his," Honora agreed. 
"And you needn't hesitate to express to me what 
you feel on the subject; for I have felt it too." 

"Not as I have," the girl said in a low tone. "It 
wasn't to be expected." 

And the tone more than the words told Honora, 
what she had once or twice before suspected, that 
Alicia felt Bernard's loss in a very special manner. 
By a flash of intuition she seemed to realize what 
the situation had been — the intimate, cousinly asso- 
ciation between the two; the attractive qualities of 
the young man; the girl's heart turning toward him 
as a flower turns toward the sun; the prospect of 
a future of wealth, ease, and happiness opening before 
her; and then, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, 
Bernard's incomprehensible conversion, his uncle's 
irreconcilable anger, his disinheritance, which had 

[i53] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

truly "altered the whole of life for him" in ways that 
were at present past calculation! Yes, it was all 
pathetically plain to Honora's eyes, now that they 
were opened. And not least pathetic was the fact, 
of which she felt assured, that Alicia had not filled 
the place in Bernard's life and thoughts that he had 
filled in hers. Else things had been different. The 
majestic figure of the Catholic Church might indeed 
have intervened; but he would not have been so 
indifferent to worldly loss had it fallen upon another 
as well as upon himself, and he would hardly come 
with so gay a spirit to the house that had been built 
for him, if his act had exiled from it the woman whom 
he might have asked to be its mistress. 

And even as Honora was thinking this Alicia spoke 
again impulsively: 

"You mustn't misunderstand me, or think that 
there was ever anything between Bernard and me 
in — in the way of a love affair. It was only that I 
was always fond of him, and — and I think he was 
rather fond of me, until this dreadful religion of his 
came between us." 

"But why do you call it a dreadful religion?" 
Honora asked. "You must know that it has not 
made Bernard feel differently toward his friends." 

Alicia gave her a glance which expressed many 
things which a girl, trained in the reticence in which 
she had been trained, could not express in words. 
Aloud she only said: 

"It has made all the difference in the world. It 
has put a barrier between us that we can't get over. 
I don't know whether he feels it or not, but I do, 
whenever we're together now — but here's Cecily at 
last!" [I54] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

She spoke quickly, as if glad of the interruption; 
for the conversation had taken place while she waited 
for Cecily, with whom she was going to one of the 
bridge parties for which fashionable Kingsford society 
now chiefly existed. Cecily, who entered at the moment, 
cool, radiant, and charmingly dressed, lifted her brows. 

"Why 'at last'?" she inquired. "We are not due 
at the party for twenty minutes yet, and the car will 
take us there in ten. So I'll put on my gloves." 

She sat down, and as she began to draw on the 
long white gloves that she was carrying she looked 
at Honora. 

"I'll have to think soon of returning some of all 
the hospitality I am accepting," she said. "When 
are you going to believe that sufficient deference has 
been paid to the memory of Mr. Chisholm to allow 
us to do a little entertaining?" 

"I thought after a few months — in the autumn 
perhaps," Honora answered hesitatingly. 

"We could have a lovely garden party now," 
Cecily observed. "The autumn is a long way off, and 
I hope we won't be in Kingsford when it arrives." 

"Where do you hope you will be?" Alicia asked. 
"In New York?" 

Cecily laughed a little mockingly. 

"New York is only the Mecca of provincials, my 
dear," she said, "and I am not a provincial. No: I 
could have whatever I wanted in New York now; 
but I don't want anything, thank you!" 

"Then where are you going?" 

"To Paris first, of course. And then — anywhere, 
everywhere. You didn't think I was going to spend 
my life in Kingsford, attending a constant succession 

[155] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of hen parties, as the English call them, did you?" 

The scorn of her tone was so unmistakable that 
Alicia flushed, and Honora exclaimed reprovingly: 

"O Cecily!" 

"Why shouldn't I say what I think?" Cecily 
inquired, opening her eyes. "They are hen parties, 
where the same set of women meet day after day to 
show their best clothes to one another, and grow 
wildly excited over a badly played game of cards, 
for the sake of a trumpery prize or two — " She paused 
with a laugh. "Alicia looks quite shocked," she said. 
"Yet I've told her time and again that the undiluted 
society of women bores me to the verge of extinction; 
and there are no men apparently in society here." 

"They are all too busy to sit down and play bridge 
in daytime," Alicia somewhat indignantly explained. 
"You've met them at our dances at night." 

"Oh, yes, I've met them on those occasions!" 
Cecily answered. "But, with the exception of Bernard 
and Julian, I can't say that any of them interested me. 
Still, a man's a man, and a great relief, even if he's 
stupid, after one has had so large a dose of unrelieved 
feminine society." 

"I think you are the most disloyal person to your 
own sex that I've ever known," Alicia said, with feathers 
still ruffled. 

"Well, that only proves that you haven't known 
many women, or that they haven't been candid enough 
to tell the truth," Cecily calmly replied. "I always 
tell the truth; and you may be sure that there will 
be men at my party, when Honora consents to my 
giving it. Now," with a glance at a diamond-set watch 
at her wrist, "I suppose we had better go, or they will 

[156] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

be impatiently waiting for us to begin their game. 
Who was it said that — 

Men some to business, some to pleasure take, 
But every woman is at heart a rake? 

He certainly would have been quite sure that she 
is at heart a gambler, if he had seen a modern 
bridge party." 

After the luxurious car carrying the two girls had 
silently and swiftly rolled away toward the town 
which lay outstretched in the valley below, Honora, 
who had gone out to see them off, turned and walked 
slowly in the direction of the garden, her face grave, 
and her eyes full of a look which meant that she hardly 
saw the beautiful scene before her, which usually 
gave her such intense delight. 

Even after she had entered the lovely pleasance, 
when its flower-set spaces were all about her, and the 
sweet, iterated note of its thrushes sounding above 
the rose-arched pergola under which she was walking, 
her face kept its abstracted expression, though now 
and then she drew a soft breath of pleasure. But it 
was not the pleasure with which she usually responded 
to these influences of nature; for there were other 
and more disturbing influences which now absorbed 
her thoughts. 

Cecily! How could she ever have imagined that, 
after the first novelty and delight in the possession 
of wealth had worn off, Cecily would be satisfied with 
life in Kingsford, where her own interests and duties 
lay, and where a difficult task had been appointed 
for her? So far from being satisfied, it was now quite 

[i57] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

clear that the girl had set her mind upon speedy de- 
parture — upon spreading her wings for the wide flight 
into the world for which she had always longed; and 
Honora knew well the tenacity of Cecily's will. "Of 
course by withholding money I could force her to 
stay," she thought. "But if she is unhappy and dis- 
contented, what good will the money be to her or to 
me? What I've chiefly cared to do with it was to 
make her happy. It doesn't matter in the least that 
/ shouldn't be happy wandering about Europe with 
nothing to do, — I, who've always had so much to do! 
I could endure that well enough if it concerned only 
myself. But I should be neglecting Mr. Chisholm's 
charge and making no effort to fulfil it. I can't tell 
Cecily that, and I know that she will give me no peace 
until I do what she wants; and she'll think me simply 
selfish if I refuse to do it — and so — and so — " 

She paused abruptly in these troubled reflections 
as she caught the sound of a step behind her; and, 
turning around, she saw Bernard Chisholm advancing 
toward her under the pergola, with its climbing roses 
and singing birds. He looked so gay and light-hearted 
with his springing step and smiling air, that she was 
conscious of a sudden pang of envy; and then she 
laughed as she held out her hand to him. 

"What is it?" he asked with some surprise. "What 
have I done to amuse you?" 

'You have done nothing," she replied. "I am 
laughing because it is ridiculous that I should be 
envying you for your cheerfulness, — for you are almost 
offensively cheerful, you know." 

"Am I?" He laughed in turn. "I didn't know 
it; but you are the last person whom I should have 

[ 158 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

thought it would irritate, as cheerfulness sometimes 
does irritate people who are not feeling particularly 
cheerful themselves." 

"It doesn't irritate me at all," she assured him. 
"It only amuses me, because — well, because one might 
expect it to be the other way: that I would be cheerful, 
and you — " 

"Depressed?" He laughed again. "It's quite 
true that I'm not depressed; but neither are you, 
I hope." 

"Oh, but I am!" she cried hastily. "It seems 
absurd, when I have so much money, — but I am!" 

He ceased to laugh, and stood looking at her with 
something like compassion in his bright dark eyes. 

"You surely didn't think that having a great deal 
of money would prove a talisman against depression!" 
he said. "Frequently it acts the other way." 

"You mean—?" 

"That there's often much trouble connected with 
great possessions. You must have known that." 

"I suppose I've known it as an abstract truth," 
she replied. "But I've never realized it before; for up 
to this time almost all the troubles of my life have 
sprung from want of money. And if I had expressed 
what I felt before this great change of fortune came to 
me, I should have said I could never be depressed in 
spirit again, if I had money enough to meet the 
expenses of life, and give Cecily what she wanted." 

"And now you've learned — ?" 

"That I was mistaken, that's all. But there's really 
no reason for troubling you about it. Do pardon me 
and come and sit down. It's delicious out here, 
isn't it?" 

[159] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Perfectly," he answered, as he obeyed her gesture 
of invitation, and sat down beside her on a bench 
under a mimosa, which was filling the air with the 
honeyed sweetness of its feathery blooms, about which 
unnumbered humming birds were fluttering on jewel- 
like wings. Floods of golden sunshine, alternating with 
cool deep shadows, were lying on the brilliant flower 
beds and green lawns before them; and as Bernard's 
gaze dwelt on the charming picture, he said regretfully: 

"I'm so sorry that you are not happy here! I 
hoped you might be." 

She glanced up at him quickly, and he was struck 
by the wistfulness in her eyes. 

"Don't think me ungrateful," she said. "I could 
be happy, very happy, here if it were not for certain 
difficulties. It's another truism — isn't it? — that there 
are always difficulties in every situation. That which 
is troubling me at present is about Cecily. I want 
more than anything else to make her happy, and I 
find that I can't do so without sacrificing things which 
it seems to me I shouldn't sacrifice." 

"As for example — ?" 

"Well, she is tired of Kingsford, though I hoped 
it would amuse her a little longer; and she has set 
her heart on going to Europe to live. She has been 
very much flattered, and believes that she could achieve 
a great success over there." 

"I haven't a doubt that she could, with her 
beauty and cleverness and your money," Bernard 
remarked. "But you don't want to go?" 

"It isn't so much that I don't want to go — that 
wouldn't matter at all, for I've never been accustomed 
to considering my own wishes, — but I don't feel as 

[160] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

if it would be right, for many reasons. I have duties 
which should keep me here, haven't I?" 

Bernard was astonished by his own inclination to 
answer emphatically, "You have!" He was suddenly 
aware that he would be very sorry if the leaf-brown 
eyes into which he was looking should vanish out of 
his life. But he gave himself a mental shake, and 
replied truthfully: 

"Of course it's desirable that you should be here, 
but there are really no compelling duties to detain 
you. The business can be conducted very well by 
your managers, and no doubt you would return occa- 
sionally to look into things." 

' ' I have hoped to do a great deal for the factory 
operatives," she said. "I thought that you and I 
together could make life a better thing for them." 

"So we could," he agreed — and then caught him- 
self again; for an instinct warned him that perhaps 
he might have come to like too well such working with 
her. "But your plans can be carried out even in your 
absence," he added. 'You know I told you the other 
day that you must not let your inheritance become 
a burden to you." 

"How can I help it?" she asked. "We can't 
escape burdens, whatever we do; and surely wealth 
is not meant merely for self-indulgence. It must carry 
duties with it. And I've also a duty toward Cecily — 
to judge what is best for her." 

"That's quite true. To give people all they want — 
which seems to be your ideal, so far as she is con- 
cerned — isn't always the best thing for them." 

"I'm beginning to see that perhaps it isn't," she 
said. "But I've never been able to deny Cecily any- 

[161] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

thing that it was in my power to give her, and I don't 
suppose I ever shall be able to do so." 

"If your conscience told you that you must, I 
think you'd find the strength to do it." 

She shook her head. 

"I don't believe that I would," she said. "The 
strength that enables people to pain and sacrifice those 
that they love, even at the bidding of conscience, is 
a mystery to me." She paused and looked at him 
with a curious gaze. "I've just heard of such a 
case," she went on. "It was the story of your friend, 
Miss Rainesford — by the by, I haven't thanked you 
yet for sending her to see me. I liked her very 
much." 

"I thought you would," he answered. "I knew 
she was very anxious to meet you, and I fancied that 
you might develop friendly sympathies." 

"We did. She is the most interesting person I 
have met in Kingsford, but — " 

He flashed a smiling look at her as she hesitated. 

"Go on," he said. "But—?" 

"I don't know what to think of her story, as it 
has been told to me; and I should like to know what 
you think of it — whether you believe that she acted 
rightly or wrongly in giving up her lover as she did." 

"Why, really," he answered, "there is for a Catholic 
but one opinion possible. He refused to make the 
promises which the Church requires from the non- 
Catholic party in what is known as a mixed marriage, 
and she had to choose between him and her religion. 
There was no alternative." 

"And you think she chose rightly?" 

"I couldn't possibly think otherwise and be a 
Catholic." [ 162 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Ah!" She reflected for a moment. "Then you 
are quite sure she did well in sacrificing the happiness 
of her own life, the happiness of the man she loved, 
and the comfort of her father's declining years, for 
the sake of an arbitrary law of the Catholic 
Church?" 

"There is nothing on earth that I am more sure 
of," he replied. "Sacrifice is really the keystone of 
human life. We can not have anything worth having 
without sacrificing something to obtain it; and the 
higher the good, the higher the price to be paid." 

"If one paid only oneself! But to make others 
suffer — that would be intolerable." 

"Can't you realize that suffering must be in the 
world for some great purpose, or else it wouldn't be 
so unescapable?" he asked. "And therefore we should 
not be so anxious to shield others from a discipline 
they may need." 

"That is a doctrine too high and too hard for 
me," she said, shaking her head again; "but both 
you and Miss Rainesford seem to have acted on it. 
I don't wonder that people think that she made you 
a Catholic." 

"She didn't, however, you know." 

"I know, for she told me so. But, since that is 
the case, won't you tell me what did make you one?" 

It is probable that, like most converts, Bernard 
Chisholm had been asked this question often before; 
but there was something in Honora's manner of 
asking it which made him hesitate for a minute 
before he replied: 

"I think I have told you that the answer to that 

[163] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

question might lead us very far — besides being rather 
egotistical on my part." 

"Never mind about being egotistical," she said. 
"And as for leading us far, I remember your telling 
me so; but you also promised that, when we were 
better acquainted, you would explain what I wanted 
to know. And I'm sure you don't make promises 
without intending to keep them." 

"But sometimes one promises rashly," he pleaded. 
"I can't believe that the history of my conversion 
would really interest you — " 

The challenge in her glance cut him short. 

"I'm sure you know better than that," she said. 
"You must know that everything you say on the 
subject interests me. It's as if you opened slightly 
the door into a new and different world of thought 
and feeling, and then shut it in my face." 

"Oh, no!" he protested. "I can't have been so 
rude as to shut any door in your face." 

"But that is exactly what you have done," she 
insisted. "From our first meeting, whenever your 
religion has been mentioned, you have changed the 
subject in a way I can compare only to the closing 
of a door." 

"And can't you give me credit for not wishing 
either to bore or to embarrass you?" he asked. "I've 
found that my friends are very likely to be bored or 
embarrassed by any allusion to my (in their opinion) 
objectionable religion." 

"I'm afraid you are very disingenuous," she told 
him. "It's impossible that you could honestly think 
you would either bore or embarrass me by allusion 
to a subject which interests me so deeply, if only 

[164] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

because it has brought so tremendous a change into 
my life." 

"But that's the very reason why it has seemed 
necessary to avoid it," he explained. "Under the 
conditions of your inheritance, it would be in — very 
bad taste, shall we say? — for me to discuss it with 
you." 

"I can't see why." 

"Oh, I think you must! And, at all events, I do." 

There was a brief pause, and then — 

"So Miss Rainesford was right!" Honora observed 
reflectively. "I spoke to her of the closed door, and 
she suggested that possibly you did not wish to discuss 
the subject with me because you were afraid of un- 
settling my faith, and perhaps putting me in the same 
position in which you were placed — without your 
courage to meet it." 

"Is it possible Miss Rainesford said that!" he 
exclaimed. 

"Well, not exactly the last," Honora replied. 
"That was only my interpretation of what she did 
say. But she was quite explicit about the danger of 
unsettling my faith, so I must tell you that there's 
no need of such consideration. I can discuss the 
claims of the Catholic Church without any danger 
to my faith — such as it is." 

The last words were uttered involuntarily, and 
so low that only Bernard's quick ear enabled him 
to catch them. He looked at her wonderingly. 

"In that case," he said, "I'm unable to understand 
why you should be interested in discussing the claims 
of the Catholic Church at all." 

"Oh, you are dense!" she complained. "Excuse 

[165] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

me, but really you are! Why, my interest is altogether 
personal, of course. As I've told you before, you've 
done so extraordinary a thing, made so extraordinary 
a sacrifice, that I am curious to know the nature of 
the influence which proved so powerful." 

"But 1 can't explain what puzzles you without 
opening doors which would—" 

"Lead one far? But please understand that I 
am not afraid of opening doors. I want to discover 
what lies behind them." 

"You want to know exactly — ?" 

"Why you were led to change your religion; why 
you are apparently so well satisfied in it, notwithstand- 
ing all that it has cost you; and why you are sure — 
if you are sure — that you could not be led to recon- 
sider old claims, and change again?" 

"To what?" 

The question was very quiet, but she found it 
unexpectedly difficult to answer. 

"To something broader, perhaps," she hazarded 
at length, — "to a religion that would leave your mind 
free, that would not fetter you with dogmas." 

He smiled. "Is there such a religion?" he inquired. 
"There are theories and sentiments in abundance 
afloat in the world, but a religion without dogmas — 
that is, without formulated beliefs, and the authority 
to make those beliefs binding on the consciences of 
men — does not and can not exist." 

"See how dogmatic you become at once!" she said 
reprovingly. "Now, it seems to me that freedom is 
the most desirable thing in the world, and we know 
that the Catholic Church forbids all freedom of 
thought." 

[ 166] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Only with regard to those things which God has 
revealed," he explained; "and one wouldn't wish 
to make a mistake with regard to them, would one?" 

" Not if one could be certain that they were revealed 
by God," she answered. "But that is where the 
difficulty comes in, you know." 

"Yes, I know," he assented. "I have been through 
it all, have wandered in the morass of human opinion 
that is called freedom of thought, and been very 
grateful to find at last a guide to show me the one 
safe road to peace of soul here and eternal life here- 
after. But I feel all sorts of a prig to be talking like 
this!" he broke off. "And I really shouldn't be dis- 
cussing religion with you, so would you mind changing 
the subject?" 

"I should mind very much," she replied decidedly. 
"Please go on. You found a guide, you say; but 
how did you find it? Miss Rainesford declares that 
personal influence doesn't make converts to Cath- 
olicity. Then what does make them?" 

"You must have heard of the grace of God." 

She looked at him with an astonishment which 
she made no attempt to disguise, and which was not 
so much for the statement as for the strangeness of 
hearing a young man say such things. They would 
have been strange enough from anybody, but from 
a young man! One must have been brought up as 
Honora had been, in an atmosphere of modern Protes- 
tantism, to realize just how extraordinary she found 
this. 

"Yes, I've heard of it," she answered. "That was 
Miss Rainesford' s explanation. But it is more mys- 
terious than the other; for we don't know much about 

[167] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the grace of God — at least we are not accustomed to 
hearing it given as a reason for change of belief." 

"That's quite true," he remarked. "I never heard 
a Protestant (unless he or she became a Catholic) 
attribute any change of religious belief to the grace 
of God. It is always purely and frankly a matter of 
personal taste and preference with them." 

"Why not call it exercising the right of private 
judgment?" she asked. "And how is it different when 
one becomes a Catholic? Haven't you, for example, 
exercised private judgment and also personal preference 
in choosing your religion?" 

"To a certain degree I have," he acknowledged. 
"When one is outside of the Church, one must use 
one's judgment in deciding on her claims. But there's 
so much more above and beyond this that it's quite 
impossible to attempt to describe it." 

"It's clear that you don't care to make the 
attempt, so far as I am concerned," she said. "But 
I believe I understand what you mean. It was a 
fascination — a strange, indefinable attraction — that 
drew you. I know, because I, too, have felt it." 

She had certainly succeeded in startling him now. 

"You!" he exclaimed, — "you have felt — ?" 

She nodded. "Yes, I have felt in slight, oh, very 
slight — degree an attraction in Catholic churches 
which I haven't found anywhere else; or, to be 
strictly accurate, I should say that I have felt the 
attraction in one Catholic church, for I've seldom been 
in any other. It was a church that I passed every day 
on my way down-town in New York; and I was first 
attracted by its massive appearance, by an air about 
it — as if it were a stronghold and fortress of peace. 

[168] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

I can use no other expression; for that is the idea 
which always occurred to me — a fortress of peace. 
I noticed it for a long time before I ever went inside; 
but at last one day the attraction seemed to become 
irresistible, so I left my train in order to find out what 
the fortress really held." 

"And you found—?" 

"That my instinct had been right, and that it held 
peace, — a wonderful, penetrating, pervading peace, 
such as I've never known any other place to hold. 
And — I don't know exactly how to say this — it wasn't 
the peace of mere stillness and silence which might 
be in any large, empty building. It was more than 
that: it was — " 

"Yes?" 

"As if the building wasn't empty in any real 
sense, — as if some influence filled and pervaded it, 
and gave one the strangest feeling of being rested and 
soothed and comforted all at once. Of course," she 
went on hastily, after a short pause, "I have no doubt 
that the explanation lies in my own state of mind 
at the time. I was so tired, — even more tired spiritually 
and mentally than physically; life stretched before 
me as so arid, so devoid of hope, or satisfaction of 
any kind; and I was besides so oppressed by cares 
and fears which it isn't necessary to enter into — " 

"I understand," he said, in a tone of deep 
sympathy. 

'That I was ready to be acted upon by any 
influence. And aren't we told that we can sometimes 
hypnotize ourselves?" 

'We are told a great many absurd things," he 
replied; "but I hope you don't believe that you 

r 169] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

hypnotized yourself into feeling as you did in that 
church?" 

"No, I can't believe that I did," she said; "for, 
if so, I ought to be able to produce the same state 
of feeling somewhere else, and I've never been able 
to do so." 

"You've tried?" 

"Yes, I've tried. You see, I had fallen into the 
habit of stopping occasionally on my way home, to 
spend a short time in the church of which I speak; 
it was like a spiritual bath of refreshment, which helped 
me to gather up my energies and go on with life. But 
after Mr. Maxwell came I had a feeling that I must 
not go there any more, — that it wouldn't be honorable 
to do so, since I had inherited a fortune on the con- 
dition I was not a Catholic." 

"Had you ever thought of becoming a Catholic?" 
Bernard asked a little breathlessly. 

"Oh, no!" she answered very decidedly. "I had 
never thought of it, and I knew nothing about the 
Church except what Protestants believe. But I had 
been conscious of what I suppose was a shadow of its 
fascination, so I felt that I must not continue to expose 
myself to that fascination after I had accepted Mr. 
Chisholm's money." 

"I'm afraid he would have thought twice about 
leaving it to you, if he had known that you were 
paying visits to a Catholic church," Bernard remarked, 
with an irrepressible smile. 

"I was quite certain of that," Honora said; "and 
therefore I didn't go back any more to the church which 
I still called my fortress of peace. But I missed it, 
even in the midst of the excitement of my last days in 

[ 170] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

New York; and once or twice I went into other 
churches — not Catholic — in search of the same attrac- 
tion. But I never found it. Some of them were very- 
beautiful, and had everything in the way of archi- 
tecture, stained glass, and religious emblems to make 
them devotional; but there was no spell about them: 
they were just empty buildings, and there was no 
more to be gained by going into them than into any 
other quiet place." 

"And how do you explain the difference?" Bernard 
asked curiously. 

"I can't explain it," she answered. "But, since 
you must have felt the same influence in much greater 
degree, perhaps you will explain it for me?" 

"The explanation is to a Catholic the most obvious 
thing in the world," he told her. "The church simply 
wasn't empty: the Blessed Sacrament was there." 

'You mean the— Host?" she queried. "I supposed 
so, when I saw people bowing toward the altar. But 
why should I, who am not a Catholic, and don't 
believe what Catholics do, have been conscious of Its 
presence?" 

"God only knows," the young man answered a 
little desperately. "You can't expect me to interpret 
that. And — and you do not at all realize how far the 
subject would lead us? / realize, because I've been 
over the road, and I know how things hang together,— 
what an inexorable logic there is about the Catholic 
faith. So I can't take the responsibility of discussing 
it with you. If you are really interested, there are 
books and priests to tell you whatever you want to 
know." 

"I am not at all interested in that way," she said 

f 171] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

hurriedly. "I haven't the least curiosity about the 
Catholic faith on my own account. My curiosity is 
altogether about you, and your attitude toward the 
religion which has cost you so much. I've been 
wondering if, perhaps, you haven't begun to regret 
your sacrifice a little. People say that converts are 
frequently disappointed after they join the Catholic 
Church, that a revulsion of feeling takes place, and — 
and that they often come back." 

"Not often: on the contrary, very seldom," he 
said; "and never those who have been sincerely 
converted — that is, who have not acted from mere 
emotionalism, or from unworthy motives. So far as 
I am concerned" — he paused for a moment, — "I think 
that I have given sufficient proof that my conversion 
was sincere, and consequently must be lasting." 

"Nobody could possibly question the sincerity of 
your conversion," she hastened to assure him. "But 
sincerity does not secure one against making mistakes. 
And all the more because of your sincerity you would 
be forced to recognize the fact if you had made a 
mistake, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes, I should be forced to recognize it," he 
answered; "but there's nothing more wildly improb- 
able — I may say impossible — than that I should ever 
recognize that I made a mistake in entering the Catholic 
Church. I waited a long time, and I counted all the 
cost before I took the step that seems to you so extraor- 
dinary. And now, instead of feeling the disappointment 
and revulsion of which you have spoken, I am filled 
with wonder that I could have waited at all, and that 
any cost seemed worth considering in comparison with 
the gain." 

[172] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Very simple and very quiet both words and manner 
were, but they carried such a force of conviction in 
their simplicity and quietness that Honora was suddenly 
filled with a sense of the futility of further effort to 
accomplish the task laid upon her by the old man 
who was dead, together with a disappointment for 
which she was wholly unprepared. Had she really hoped 
to be able to influence Bernard Chisholm in the manner 
desired? She told herself that she had not entertained 
such hope; but to her surprise, and much to her dis- 
comfiture, she felt a mist of tears rising to her eyes. 

"I'm sorry, — oh, I'm very sorry!" was all she 
could say. 

"But why should you be sorry?" Bernard asked 
gently; for he saw the shining mist in the leaf-brown 
eyes, and was deeply touched by it. "Everything has 
happened for the best. I have gained more than I 
can express; and you have profited by my loss, which 
is the greatest possible source of pleasure and satis- 
faction to me." 

Then Honora laughed, as people sometimes laugh 
to avoid tears. 

"You remind me," she said, "of a story I once 
read about one of your saints. It was in Medieval 
times, and his brothers decided to go and become 
monks or hermits, or something of the kind, and wanted 
him to remain in the world to inherit the wealth and 
honors of their family. But he said, ' Do you call it a 
fair exchange to take heaven for yourselves and leave 
the world for me?' And so he went along with them. 
Well, I don't mean that I approve of their ideas, but 
yours are strikingly like them. You congratulate 
yourself upon having gained eternal things, and you 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

imply that I should be satisfied with inheriting the 
fortune you scorned. It's like the saint and his 
brothers — the higher choice for you, and for me — " 

"But no choice has been asked of you," he reminded 
her. "The fortune came to you as a free gift: you 
were not required to choose between it and the grace 
of God." 

She was about to reply, "No, I was not required 
to choose," when something like an illuminating flash 
of light upon the past made her stop and ask herself 
if there had really been no act of choice, no deliberate 
movement of the will, when she accepted the condition 
upon which wealth had been given her, and when she 
decided that she must not enter again the church 
where she had found such mysterious peace. Bernard 
saw a startled expression come into her eyes, and 
then she surprised him by rising abruptly. 

"You are right," she said: "there is nothing at 
all to be gained by this discussion, for it's as if we 
were talking in different languages. I've seemed inex- 
cusably persistent in forcing it on you; but I hope 
you'll believe that it wasn't merely from curiosity." 

"I'm quite sure of that," he told her quickly. "I 
know that your interest has sprung from the kindness 
of your heart — from sympathy with one whom you 
conceive to have been hardly treated, but who really 
wasn't, and who therefore must not accept sympathy 
to which he isn't entitled." 

"You've told me that several times before, and 
I'll promise not to make you tell me again," she said. 
"Now come, and let us talk about the contract for 
the factory improvements." 

[i74] 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE dusk of the June evening, filled with the 
fragrance of flowers, and with sunset fires still 
lingering in the west, where the delicate golden 
crescent of a new moon gleamed, was holding the 
earth under its spell of enchantment, as Bernard 
Chisholm walked down one of the shade-arched streets 
of the older part of Kingsford, and entered the gate 
which led to a spacious, old-fashioned house, set back 
from the street among tall, old trees. 

There was no one visible on the wide veranda 
surrounding the house, where many large, comfortable 
chairs were grouped, as if waiting occupancy. But 
through its open windows a flood of melody poured 
out on the twilight; for some one within was playing 
Schumann's 'Traumerei" most beautifully, bringing 
out the lovely melody with velvet-tipped fingers. 

Bernard mounted the steps of the veranda noise- 
lessly, and sank into a chair beside a window which 
opened to the floor, and near which, in the room within, 
he knew that the piano stood. Here he remained 
without moving until the last strains died away, and 
then he applauded softly. 

Immediately a hand drew back the draperies of 
the window, and a voice cried eagerly: 

"Is that you, Bernard? Come in, and we'll have 
some music." 

[i75] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Thanks! But I've just enjoyed the 'Traumerei,'" 
Bernard answered, as he rose; "and I can't indulge 
myself further now, for I want to talk to you; and if 
I don't seize the present opportunity, some intrusive 
person will certainly interrupt us. So, please, do you 
come out!" 

"Very well," was the laughing rejoinder. 

There was the sound of a piano lid closed, and the 
next moment Miss Rainesford stepped through the 
window, and sat down beside him. 

"Here I am," she said. "And if you want to talk 
of anything important, you've chanced upon a good 
time; for father has gone to George's with the 
children — who were here to tea, — and he will certainly 
remain there an hour or two." 

"It wasn't the General whom I had in mind as an 
intrusive person," Bernard had the grace to explain, 
"but some one of the numerous visitors who have 
frequently forced me to think that you are entirely 
too popular." 

"Perhaps it's because I'm one of the few people 
who prefer to listen rather than to talk," she hazarded. 
"And I don't deserve much credit for it, either. I'm 
often too tired and sometimes too indolent to talk; 
so I just lean back and let my visitors pour out their 
stream of conversation with very few interruptions. 
They like that." 

"Well, lean back now, and I'll pour out what I 
have to say. But I warn you that I shall expect 
attention; for I've come to seek advice." 

" In that case I won't lean back. I'll remain upright 
in body as well as in mind; for I'm sure you wouldn't 
seek advice on an unimportant matter. What is it?" 

[176] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Something that I may be mistaken in thinking 
important, yet I have an instinct that it is. It's about 
Miss Trezevant — Honora Trezevant." 

"Ah!" Miss Rainesford sat a little more upright. 
"That's an interesting subject. And what about her?" 

"Well" — the young man frowned slightly, as if in 
perplexity, — "I've had rather a singular conversation 
with her this afternoon, and, upon my soul, I believe 
that she is inclined toward the Church." 

"A great many people are," Miss Rainesford re- 
marked calmly, — "many more than ever act upon their 
inclination, being, like Demas, too much attached to 
the things of this present world. I'm not greatly 
surprised to hear that Miss Trezevant is one of them. 
I rather suspected something of the kind from our 
conversation when I went to see her. She seemed 
so peculiarly interested in your conversion." 

"She has evinced that interest from the first," 
Bernard said; "and I have had difficulty in avoiding 
the discussion of the subject with her. I've thought 
her persistence in trying to discuss it rather strange; 
but I set it down to curiosity, and sympathy with 
my loss — which, in spite of all my assurances to the 
contrary, she insists upon considering very great. But 
this afternoon I had a new light." 

"Yes? What kind of light?" 

"A gleam that seems to explain the fascination the 
subject evidently holds for her. It happened in this 
way. I went to see her on business, and found her in 
the garden alone. But instead of talking business she 
began to speak of other things — first of her sister, who 
has discovered that Kingsford offers too limited a fiell 
for the gratification of her desires and ambitions, anc 

[ 177 1 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

has decided that she wishes to go to Europe to live." 

"And does she want Honora to go also?" 

"That appears to be her plan. And it was quite 
evident that Honora would have no power to refuse, 
though she does not want to go, as she confessed." 

"Then she is weaker than I would have given her 
credit for being. If that beautiful, spoiled creature — 
who must be as selfish as she is spoiled — wants to go 
abroad to live, she could send her under proper pro- 
tection, without going herself." 

"I gathered that that wouldn't suit Mademoiselle 
Cecily's plans; and so Honora was very downcast 
at the prospect of leaving her interests and occupa- 
tions here. Well, the conversation drifted along. We 
talked of you, and, by the by, she was charmed with 
you—" 

"Many thanks! I was certainly very much pleased 
with her. And then?" 

'Then there came what I am tempted to call the 
inevitable diversion to the subject of my religion. 
It seems you had told her that personal influence didn't 
make converts—" 

' ' I remember telling her something of the kind — 
of course in answer to her questions." 

"So she wanted to know what did make them, and 
practically demanded a history of my conversion." 

"Did you give it to her?" 

"I did not. I forget what I said exactly. It was, 
I fancy, just the usual fencing on my part. But for the 
first time it seemed to provoke her. She charged me 
with disinclination to answer her questions because 
I feared unsettling her faith, and said that she did 
not wish to be considered in that way, — that she had 

[178] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

a right to discuss the claims of the Catholic Church 
if she chose to do so." 

"That's true, you know. She has a right to save 
her soul, in spite of the Chisholm will and the Chisholm 
fortune." 

"A right, yes. But since she isn't in the least likely 
to exercise that right, one is bound not to disturb her 
good faith — not to give her information that would 
make her position terribly hard, were her conscience 
once roused." 

"I'm not sure that I agree with you. I'm not at 
all sure that one has a right to withhold information 
of the kind because one is not certain that it will be 
acted upon." 

"Generally speaking, you are probably right. But 
in this particular case I think I'm right," Bernard said 
obstinately. "You don't know this girl; you don't 
realize how easy it would be to rouse her conscience, 
and how dreadfully she would suffer if it were roused." 

"I believe that I realize it," Miss Rainesford an- 
swered; "for, although I have seen her only once, I 
was very much impressed with her, and she is easily 
read. There is nothing subtle about her: it is a 
transparent character, very sincere, very loyal, with 
strong affections, and little thought of self. It is by 
such characters that sacrifices are made." 

"Not sacrifices that would entail suffering on 
others. That's where the defect of the quality of 
unselfishness comes in, and there's where you have a 
difficulty that could hardly be surmounted. Cecily 
Trezevant would stand like a lion in the path of her 
sister's possible conversion to the Church; for, as 
3^ou know, the latter holds her fortune on the condition 

[ i79] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of not being a Catholic, and she would forfeit it if 
she became one. The sacrifice would be too much 
to expect of her." 

"Why should it be too much to expect? You 
made it." 

"The situation is entirely different with her from 
what it was with me. I gave up the fortune, it's true; 
but that was a small sacrifice for a man with youth, 
health, strength, and nobody depending on him; 
while it would be an appalling sacrifice for this girl, 
who would be forced to return to poverty and labor 
for which she is wholly unfitted, and who has a sister 
whose prospects in life she would destroy — and who 
would never forgive her for it." 

Miss Rainesford sighed. "I suppose it would be 
too much to expect of her, unless she were of the most 
heroic mould — such mould as we do not encounter 
often in life," she said. "But you haven't told me 
yet why you think that she is inclined toward the 
Church?" 

"Haven't I? I'm afraid I'm telling my story in 
a very disconnected manner. Well, in the course of 
the conversation about my conversion, she startled 
me by confessing that she, too, had felt the attraction 
of the Church, — that attraction which, like a powerful 
magnet, draws souls toward it, as we know well. But 
she is altogether ignorant of the faith, as you may 
judge from the fact that she doesn't understand what 
renders a Catholic church different from any other. 
It appears that she fell into the habit of wandering into 
one in New York, and so became conscious of an 
atmosphere unlike any she had ever known before." 
"I've heard many Protestants say that they were 

[180] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

conscious of such an atmosphere in our churches." 

"I'm aware that there's nothing unusual in the 
experience, but it was rather pathetic to hear this 
girl describe hers, — how, after a day of wearying toil, 
she would drop into the church, which she called 'a 
fortress of peace,' and find there rest, comfort, and 
strength to go on with life. It was all perfectly 
comprehensible to a Catholic, but it puzzled her 
tremendously." 

"Didn't you tell her what was in the church?" 

"Oh, yes! I told her that, in the fewest words 
possible; but when she wanted to know why she, 
who had no faith in the real Presence, was so con- 
scious of Its influence, I simply declined to discuss 
the subject further. In the first place, I didn't know 
myself, though I had a strong suspicion; and, in the 
second place, it was an absolutely impossible subject 
for me to discuss with her" 

"Why was it impossible for you to discuss it with 
her?" 

He stared a little. "Surely you must see that I am 
the last person to have anything to do with her conver- 
sion to Catholicity, if it should take place," he said. 

"I suppose I'm stupid," she replied, "but I don't 
see. Is it possible that you are thinking of what people 
would say?" 

"A little perhaps," he admitted. "We all have 
our weaknesses. And you can't but acknowledge that 
it might look like a revenge for my disinheritance, if 
I had any part in converting the heiress, whom my 
uncle selected, to the religion he detested, thereby 
forcing her to lose the fortune he left her." 

Miss Rainesford burst into laughter. 

[181] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I've never heard anything more utterly absurd!" 
she exclaimed. 'You know that nobody would ever 
dream of attributing such a motive to you." 

"Seriously, I don't know it," he answered. "I 
can see a good many people shaking their heads and 
saying that it was quite 'Jesuitical,' and altogether 
what was to have been expected." 

"Of course there are always fools to be reckoned 
with," she conceded. "But you didn't care in the 
least what people said, or how far they misjudged 
you, when it was a question of your own conversion." 

"That was a different affair altogether. My con- 
version concerned only myself, but I can't incur any 
responsibility in this case." 

"It's the first time I've ever known you afraid of 
responsibility." 

"I'm not only afraid, I positively refuse to accept 
it in the present instance," he asseverated. "And 
therefore I've decided that it will be best to carry out 
as soon as possible my original intention of leaving 
Kingsford." 

"Because Honora Trezevant has asked a few 
questions about the Catholic faith? Bernard, I am 
amazed at you!" 

"The amazing thing to me," he returned, "is that 
you don't seem to realize the position in which I am 
placed. I can't continue to evade her inquiries, and 
I can't possibly accept the responsibility of answering 
them. So the only thing to do is to go away." 

"But you are so illogical!" she exclaimed. "You've 
said in the most positive manner that you con- 
sider nothing more unlikely than her conversion." 

' ' I am not talking of her conversion in the sense 

[182] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of a formal, outward act," he explained. "Considering 
the tremendous renunciation it would entail, I do 
regard that as absolutely unlikely, if not impossible, 
however much she were convinced of the truth of the 
Catholic faith. But the conversion of the spirit — the 
terrible inward struggle of conscience on one side, 
and affection and interest on the other, — there is where 
tragedy would come in. And I can't, I won't, have any 
responsibility with regard to that." 

There was a moment's silence, and then Miss 
Rainesford said slowly: 

"All this is so unlike you that I am inclined to 
draw a conclusion which may not please you." 

"What conclusion do you draw?" he asked. 

"The conclusion that you are thinking of running 
away, not so much because you feel yourself in danger 
of converting Honora Trezevant as of falling in love 
with her." 

"And if your surmise were true," he said, quietly, 
"wouldn't you think that I was acting wisely in running 
away?" 

"Bernard!" she gasped. "Do you mean that it 
is true?" 

Even in the dusk she could see that his eyes were 
smiling as he looked at her. 

"Only as a possibility," he told her. "It was the 
second revelation that I had this afternoon; for I 
hadn't before been aware of such a possibility. But 
she is very attractive, very sympathetic, very charming 
altogether; and if I continue to be associated with her 
as I have been lately, I — well, I can't answer for myself. 
And so there's but one word for me, and that word 
is 'Go!'" 

[183] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"But why?" Miss Rainesford cried appealingly. 
"It seems to me that it would be ideal if you and she 
fell in love with each other and married, — the most 
perfect righting of a wrong imaginable. And what is 
more," the speaker went on, with a sudden flash of 
intuition, "I believe that is what your uncle hoped 
and intended. Why else should he have left his fortune 
to a girl? Depend upon it, his pride wouldn't let him 
break his word and leave it to you after he had threat- 
ened you with the loss of it, but he hoped you'd get 
it in this way." 

It was Bernard's turn to laugh now. 

"My dear friend," he said, "let me assure you 
that my uncle neither read nor wrote romances, and 
such a plan would never have entered his mind. If 
it had — but it couldn't, for he knew me too well." 

"Knew you in what way?" 

' ' In the way of being certain that I would never 
take by such means the fortune he had refused to 
give me." 

"Do you mean that if you loved this girl and she 
loved you, you would not marry her because she 
inherited your uncle's fortune?" 

"I mean just that. Nothing would induce me even 
to consider such a possibility." 

"Well, I call that sinful pride." 

"And I call it self-respect. So there you are! But 
really we are going much too fast. I'm not in love with 
Honora Trezevant: I only felt this afternoon that it 
was within the bounds of possibility that I might 
come to be; and I'm absolutely certain that she hasn't 
the faintest idea of being in love with me. But her 
interest in the Church is a very real and very per- 

[184] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

sistent thing, and the peculiar circumstances of my 
conversion make it centre about me ; hence her inquiries 
into the psychological process of that conversion." 

"And to avoid those inquiries you are going to run 
away! I wouldn't have believed it of you." 

"But I have all along intended to go away," he 
reminded her. "I want to take advantage of that 
opening in Buenos Aires of which I've told you, and 
this means only that I would go a little sooner than of 
late I have intended." 

"And I've been hoping that you had given up the 
idea of going at all, — that I wouldn't have to lose 
you out of my life. You don't know what it would 
mean to me to lose you. Oh, I wish your uncle had 
never heard of Honora Trezevant!" 

"Don't wish that," Bernard said. "She is not only 
the right person in the right place, but I shouldn't 
be here now, you know, but for her. All my plans 
were settled for going, but she begged me to remain; 
and I was tempted to do so, partly because I wanted 
to help her in a difficult position, and partly to carry 
out some plans of my own about the business. But 
it was a mistake — I see that now, — and the sooner 
one ends a mistake, the better." 

"But you've said that she's going away!" Miss 
Rainesford cried, with the air of one who is struck by 
a happy idea. "If the younger sister has set her mind 
upon their going abroad to live, why, that solves the 
difficulty; and you needn't run away to avoid either 
converting or falling in love with Honora." 

"I didn't say that she was certainly going abroad — 
only that Cecily wishes her to do so." 

"But what Cecily wishes is the thing that comes 

[185] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to pass, isn't it? Oh, I've no doubt they will go! So 
there's really no immediate necessity for you to buy 
your ticket for Buenos Aires." 

"Of course I can't leave immediately," he acknowl- 
edged. "That wouldn't be fair, since I've just under- 
taken to superintend certain improvements in the 
factories. But I shall go as soon as possible, and 
meanwhile — ' ' 

"Yes, meanwhile?" 

"I'd like to hear what advice you have to offer for 
my guidance in the situation." 

"Don't be a coward!" she advised him promptly. 
"It's a r61e that doesn't suit you at all. Up to this 
time, I've never seen any one face life with more cheerful 
courage; and there's no reason why you should lose 
either cheerfulness or courage now. If God intends 
to reward you for what you have done by letting you 
help another soul along the difficult path of sacrifice — " 

"No, no!" he interrupted. "I decline that r61e 
altogether!" 

"You can't decline it, if it is appointed for you. 
And if God puts a great opportunity before Honora 
Trezevant, you have no right, in your desire to spare 
her suffering, to close the door of inquiry in her face." 

He smiled, remembering Honora's words about the 
closed door. 

"It's clear," he said, "that you are inclined to 
offer only the most heroic advice, — advice which is 
entirely too heroic for me to follow. So don't be sur- 
prised if you hear that I have become wholly absorbed 
in business as long as I remain here, and that I shall 
hereafter see as little of Miss Trezevant as our relations 
will allow." 

[186] 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THAT Bernard found greater difficulty than he 
anticipated in carrying out his resolution of 
being wholly absorbed in business, and seeing 
no more of Honora Trezevant than could be avoided, 
was hardly surprising, considering that, as human 
experience assures us, "the best laid plans of men 
and mice gang aft aglee"; and also that he had not 
reckoned upon Cecily, and her power of making people 
do not what they desired but what she desired they 
should do. So it came about that, answering a telephone 
call one morning, he found himself addressed by a 
silvery and rather imperative voice. 

"Hello! Is that you, Bernard?" the voice inquired. 
"This is Cecily Trezevant. How are you, and why 
haven't we seen anything of you lately? . . . Oh, been 
very busy, have you? But that's stupid — to be so 
busy that you can't spare time to see your friends. . . . 
Well, I'm glad to hear that you're sorry, for sorrow 
should include amendment; and I'm going to give 
you an opportunity not only to amend but to do a 
favor. You like doing favors, don't you?" 

"It depends upon the nature of the favor," Bernard 
replied cautiously. "I'm afraid I am not very benevo- 
lently inclined. What is it you want me to do?" 

; 'Why, something that you like very much, so 
you can't refuse, however unbenevolent you may be. 

[187] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

We want you to take part in a concert that Mrs. 
Selwyn and I are getting up." 

"For your own amusement?" 

"Primarily, and also for some charitable purpose — 
I forget what exactly, and it really doesn't matter. All 
that matters just now is that you'll promise to help 
us; and you will, won't you?" 

"Since you put it that way, of course I'll be delighted 
to do anything I can." 

"I was sure you would. Be kind enough, then, 
to report for rehearsal at eight o'clock this evening." 

"At Mrs. Selwyn's?" 

"No: at our — Honora's — house. We are going to 
rehearse in your music room. You don't mind, do you?" 

"Why should I?" 

"I knew you wouldn't. In fact, I thought you'd 
be glad to have the beautiful room put to some use. 
I told Honora so. She was inclined to object, but — 
well, we needn't go into that, either. You'll be certain 
to come at eight promptly! Thanks so much! Good- 
bye!" 

As Bernard hung up the receiver, he said to himself, 
"Kismet!" It was not what he would have desired, 
to be booked for participation in an amateur concert, 
with rehearsals not only in Honora's house but in the 
music room that had been fitted and prepared for his 
individual use and pleasure. But, since the matter 
had been taken out of his hands, he was willing to 
shift responsibility to the shoulders of fate, and accept 
the situation with resignation. 

Indeed, there was more than resignation in this 
acceptance: there was a distinct sense of a difficult 
effort relaxed. After all, he had perhaps been unneces 

[188] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

warily startled by that conversation in the garden, and 
there was really no reason why he should debar himself 
from intercourse with Honora because she showed a 
curious interest in his conversion, or through fear 
that he was not strong enough to resist an attraction 
to which it was impossible for him to yield. Miss 
Rainesford's, "Don't be a coward!" echoed in his ears; 
and he told himself that she had been right in character- 
izing his fears as exaggerated and fantastic. There 
was nothing less likely than that Honora' s interest in 
his religion would lead to any practical result in her 
own case. Had he not her word to the contrary, her 
arguments against the Church, her almost passionate 
assurance that her interest was purely personal to 
himself? And he was undoubtedly sure of his own 
strength, — his clear realization of the fact that there 
was no woman in the world set farther apart from him 
than the heiress of the fortune he had forfeited. These 
things being so, it was therefore well that Cecily had 
put an end to a course which, if persevered in, would 
probably have led to embarrassment and misconception. 

Fortified and encouraged by such considerations, 
it was with a light-hearted sense of something pleasur- 
able awaiting him that he spent the remainder of the 
day, and, when evening fell, took his way along the 
familiar road which led to the house that was to have 
been his own, and was now Honora's. 

The stately residence made a beautiful picture, 
standing on its commanding eminence, in the sunset 
glow, as he drew near; and, somewhat to his surprise, 
he found Cecily waiting for him at the head of the 
terrace steps, — -a lovely figure outlined against the 
incarnadine west. 

[189] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"How nice of you to be so punctual!" she cried at 
sight of him. "I was afraid you might be late." 

"Why were you afraid?" he asked. "You said 
eight o'clock, and it is barely eight now." 

'Yes, I know I said eight," she replied. "But 
that was because I wanted to have a little talk with 
you before the others came. The rehearsal is really 
appointed for half-past eight. So, you see, I should 
have been very much disappointed if you hadn't been 
on time. But here you are, and now we'll go into the 
garden, where we shall be undisturbed." 

She turned as she spoke; and, with increasing 
surprise, Bernard moved beside her toward the garden. 
It was delightful there in the exquisite June twilight, 
filled with the fragrance of flowers. But he was not 
able to enjoy the charm of the place or the spell of 
the hour, through wondering what had given Cecily 
her very unwonted air of serious preoccupation. As 
they walked, she spoke lightly enough of the coming 
concert, and of those who had agreed to take part in 
it. But through the stream of words he was conscious 
that her attention was really absorbed by something 
altogether different; and he was himself only waiting 
until she should let him know what this subject was. 

It was not long before she did so. They had passed 
under the pergola, where he met Honora when he was 
last there; and as they emerged she led the way toward 
the same seat under the mimosa where he had then 
sat. 

"Let us sit down," she said. "I know you are 
wondering why I've brought you out here, and what 
it is that I want to talk about. Well, there's no good 
in beating about the bush, especially when time is 

[ J 9o] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

limited; so I might as well say at once that I want you 
to tell me what is the matter with Honora?" 

He was so entirely unprepared for, and so thor- 
oughly astonished by, this inquiry that for a moment 
he could only stare at the speaker. Then — 

"I wasn't aware that anything was the matter 
with her," he said. "Why should you think I would 
know, or could tell you anything about it?" 

She gave him a quick glance out of the pansy- 
purple eyes that could be so keen sometimes. 

' There are several reasons why I thought it possible 
you might know," she replied. "One of them is that 
your absence of late has coincided so exactly with the 
change in her." 

"What kind of a change?" he asked anxiously, 
overlooking the allusion to himself. 

Cecily hesitated slightly. 

"It's rather hard to define," she said, "though it's 
very perceptible to me, — so perceptible that I feel I 
really can't endure it any longer without some 
explanation." 

"Have you asked her for an explanation?" 

"Of course I have. But she gives me no satisfaction, 
and only declares that there's nothing the matter 
with her — which, on the face of it, is absurd!" 

"But you haven't told me yet in what the change 
consists." 

"No, and I can't describe it further than to say 
that she is dreadfully depressed in spirits (though she 
tries to hide this), and that she evidently has some 
great worry or weight upon her mind." 

"But why should you connect me with this 
condition?" 

[191] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"By the simple process of putting two and two 
together," she replied a little dryly. "This condition, 
as you call it, has existed in particularly marked degree 
ever since your last visit; and therefore I should be 
very stupid if I didn't draw the conclusion that some- 
thing had taken place then which produced a deep 
effect upon her. So I determined to ask you about 
it, and I did hope you would be frank with me. She 
hasn't said or done anything that you have — er — mis- 
understood, has she?" 

"Good Heavens, no!" he exclaimed with energy. 
"What could she possibly have said or done that I 
would misunderstand ? ' ' 

"How can I tell?" Cecily returned. "I've thought 
that she might have made some offer that offended 
you, — tried to induce you to take part of the estate, 
perhaps — " 

"You must know that is impossible," he interrupted 
quickly. "Nothing of the kind has occurred or could 
occur." 

"Well, something occurred!" Cecily persisted. 
"There's no good in telling me that something hasn't 
happened to disappoint her deeply; and I'm as sure 
as that I'm living that the disappointment is connected 
with you. What you've done or declined to do of course 
I can't tell." 

"And you refuse to believe that I have neither done 
nor left undone anything, of which I am aware, that 
could have such an effect upon her?" 

"Then why have you been staying away so un- 
accountably?" she demanded, turning upon him. 
"It's ridiculous to expect me to believe that her 
depression and your absence have no connection. Oh, 

[ 192] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

I know I've no right to be questioning you in this 
way! But I'm very much concerned about Honora's 
state of mind, and she has let fall some really extraor- 
dinary remarks." 

He was himself so much concerned that, almost 
involuntarily, he inquired: 

"What kind of remarks." 

But again Cecily hesitated before replying. 

"They were rather vague," she said at last, "but 
they seemed to express some kind of a feeling that 
the fortune she has inherited isn't really hers, that she 
is only holding it in charge for somebody or something 
else — " She paused and looked at him with an anxiety 
she was unable to conceal. "There's nothing in your 
uncle's will to justify such a feeling as that, is there?" 

"Nothing whatever," he replied. "The estate is 
left to her unreservedly — in the most absolute terms." 

"Ah!" Cecily gave a sigh of relief. "Then I can't 
imagine what on earth is the matter with her, or what 
idea has taken possession of her mind. It's really 
more like an obsession than anything else. You'd 
think that after such a life as she has had, such dreadful 
experience of poverty, she would enjoy intensely the 
fortune that has come to her. But the fact is that 
she doesn't enjoy it. You must have observed that?" 

Bernard signified that he had observed and been 
surprised by the fact alluded to. 

"I've been puzzled from the first by this curious 
attitude of hers," Cecily went on; "but I thought it 
would wear off after she became accustomed to the 
possession of wealth. Well, it doesn't wear off: on the 
contrary, it seems to grow stronger; and I can account 
for it only by supposing that she is worrying about 

[ 193 1 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

your disinheritance. She feels very keenly about that, 
you know." 

"I know that she does, and I have tried very hard 
to convince her that there is no need for such concern 
on her part." 

"I believe you have tried," Cecily conceded; "but 
you certainly haven't succeeded very well. And as for 
what's lately occurred — for you can't expect me to 
believe that something didn't occur to account for the 
coincidence of your absence and her singular depres- 
sion, — if you can't or won't throw any light upon it, 
there's no reason why I should detain you here any 
longer." 

She rose as she spoke; and, as Bernard rose also, 
he said in a tone of deep concern: 

"I can't express how sorry I am for what you've 
been telling me — I mean about your sister's state of 
mind; and sorry, too, for my failure to convince you 
that I haven't anything consciously to do with it. 
As for my staying away, that has been for a reason 
altogether different from what you have imagined." 

She paused, and stood looking at him intently in 
the light which the afterglow of the sunset was still 
shedding over them. 

"But you can't deny," she challenged, "that there 
was a reason other than the filmy excuse you've given?" 

"If so," he replied, "it was a reason which con- 
cerned only myself." 

"But somebody here must have done something 
to produce such an effect. If it wasn't Honora, was it 
perhaps me?" 

He smiled as he regarded the charming picture 
she made, standing in her alluring fairness in the color- 
ful twilight. [ 1 94 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I'm sure," he told her, "that you are well used 
to causing wilder eccentricity of conduct than any 
of which I've been guilty; but I must relieve you of 
all responsibility for mine." 

She flushed under his gaze, which seemed to appraise 
and to dismiss the charms she was accustomed to 
find irresistible; and, turning, began to walk toward 
the house. 

"In that case we needn't discuss the subject 
further," she said. "The others are probably arriving 
by this time, and we must join them. I hope you'll 
like the programme we've arranged, and the songs for 
which your friend, Miss Rainesford, has cast you." 

When Bernard met Honora a little later, he was 
extremely relieved to perceive no sign of the change 
in her of which Cecily had spoken. The simple gracious- 
ness of her manner was exactly what it had always 
been; and she made no indiscreet inquiry about, or 
allusion to, his prolonged absence. He himself felt more 
than a little conscious on this point, especially under 
the eye of Miss Rainesford, who was talking to Honora 
when he came up to greet her. But that lady also was 
mistress of perfect tact, and at once put him at ease. 

"O Bernard, I'm so glad to see you!" she said, 
as he turned to her. "I've been fearing you might 
decline to help us; for I know you dislike amateur 
performances — ' ' 

"But I'm not disobliging as a rule, am I?" he 
asked. "And there could certainly have been no question 
of my declining if I knew you were interested in the 
performance. But what is it for? I haven't heard yet." 

"Haven't you? Well, I'm glad to say it is for an 

[i95] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

object we can all agree upon, and work for in harmony— 
the new city hospital. Society is so terribly cut up 
into sects and sets of all kinds that the need to relieve 
human suffering is about the only ground on which we 
can meet." 

"Then it is surely appropriate that our entertain- 
ment should be musically harmonious," he laughed. 
He looked again at Honora with something appealing, 
though he was not aware of it, in his handsome eyes. 
"Are you going to help also?" he asked. "I don't 
know whether you are musical or not." 

"Only in loving music," she answered. " My 
musical education stopped short when I was about 
fifteen; and it didn't really matter, since I don't think 
I have any talent worth cultivating. But I am devoted 
to hearing music — though there again I haven't been 
able to cultivate my taste very much." 

"You must have had many opportunities to do so 
in New York," he suggested. 
But she shook her head. 

"No: I was too busy, and I had very little money 
to spend on luxuries, — and operas and concerts are 
luxuries. The only fine music I ever heard was in the 
churches. I alv/ays went on Sunday where I thought 
I would be sure of finding some." She added a little 
deprecatingly: "I'm afraid it was my only idea of 
divine worship; and there wasn't any real worship 
in that — only the satisfaction of my longing for 
harmony." 

"Oh, I don't know!" Miss Rainesford said. "The 
harmony raised your thoughts to God, and made you 
grateful to Him for creating such a source of delight, 
I'm sure. Did you go to the Catholic churches? You 

[196] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

would have been likely to hear the best music there." 
"Occasionally I went to the cathedral, but not 
very often, — it was so crowded, and the services were 
so unintelligible to me. But Catholic music is superb, 
I know." 

"The best of it is. But there are a good many 
different kinds," Miss Rainesford observed discreetly. 
"If you are not well acquainted with it — and few 
people outside of musicians are — you must get Bernard 
to play over some of the Masses of the great com- 
posers for you. He's an enthusiast about that kind 
of music. It was what converted him." 

"Was it?" Honora's eyes turned, wide and bright, 
on Bernard. "He has refused to tell me what did 
convert him. I'm glad to know at last." 

"Miss Rainesford was not exactly serious," Bernard 
said, with a slightly reproachful glance at that lady. 
"She means only that music was one of the roads that 
led me to the door of the Church." 

"The chief road," corrected Miss Rainesford. 

"Yes, I suppose it was," Bernard admitted. "You 
see, it happened this way," he said, answering the 
inquiry in Honora's look. "I had always been very 
fond of music, but I had never chanced to hear any 
Catholic music — I mean the music written for the 
Church by the great masters — until, by the merest 
accident (if anything in life is an accident) I went 
with a party of friends to a ceremonial function at 
the Benedictine Abbey not far from here — " 

"What!" Honora's astonishment forced her to 
interrupt. "Is it possible that there is anything so 
medieval as a Benedictine Abbey near here?" 

"Quite near, as distance is reckoned in these days 

[ 197] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of motor cars," he assured her. "A few hours' run, no 
more. Well, oddly enough, I had never felt any curiosity 
about the Abbey; but reports of fine music to be 
heard there wakened my interest. So I went — " He 
stopped for a moment, keenly conscious of Honora's 
quickening attention, and then continued hurriedly: 
"I can't go into details of what I heard and saw there — 
but I found that I had stepped out of the world I 
knew into another — so remote in its strangeness, yet 
so close in its appeal to the deepest instincts of my 
nature, that it overwhelmed me. The music? Oh, 
yes! The music delighted me, and I met the young 
monk who was the organist and director of the choir — 
to my unaccustomed eyes a figure out of the Middle 
Ages in his religious habit, but a man as modern as 
myself, and a musician to his finger tips. He responded 
charmingly to my advances, and opened to me a world 
of music that enchanted me, as I sat by the organ for 
hours while he rolled out the great harmonies. For, 
to make a long story short, I didn't go back with my 
party. I stayed at the Abbey for several days. And 
that was the beginning of the end of which you know." 

Honora's eyes were shining as she looked at him. 

"And Music led you there!" she commented. "You 
had built this beautiful home for her" (she indicated 
by a gesture the splendid room, all lighted and open 
before them, from which the rich notes of a piano now 
came) ; ' ' and she rewarded you by leading you away, 
and forcing you to sacrifice it." 

He smiled irresistibly. 

"You've really grasped it!" he said. 



[198] 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE concert, under the able management of the 
ladies who had undertaken it, proved a great 
success both socially and financially; but the 
handsome cheque which went to the city hospital was 
by no means its final or most important result. That 
result was rather to be found in certain processes of 
thought and feeling which were taking place with both 
Bernard and Honora, as a consequence of their renewed 
association, and of the revelation which music had 
already brought to one, and was bringing to the other. 
For Honora was not likely to forget Miss Raines- 
ford's, "You must make him play for you some of the 
Masses of the great composers"; and Bernard could 
not resist the pleasure of introducing so appreciative 
a listener into that realm of splendid harmony, where 
music, so often debased to lower uses, rises to the 
full height of its angelic mission to lift man's soul 
to God. It was indeed such a delight to him to find 
himself once more at the organ he had so carefully 
selected, and to roll out from its great pipes the waves 
of glorious melody which he loved, and he was also 
so thoroughly assured of giving equal delight to Honora, 
that he overlooked, for a time at least, the fact that 
he was leading her along the path by which he himself 
had been led — by the most potent of all the arts which 
are the divinely appointed handmaidens of religion. 

[ 199] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Come next time a little earlier than the others, 
so that you can play some of your Catholic music for 
me," she had bidden him on the evening of the first 
rehearsal; and he not only promised to do so, but he 
had kept his promise, forgetful of any reason why he 
should not give to both her and himself so much 
apparently harmless pleasure. And from coming a 
little earlier than the others, he soon came much 
earlier; for time went quickly when one was interpreting 
and explaining the work of the great masters. And 
after the rehearsals were over he still came, unable 
to resist the fascination not only of the music but of 
Honora's pleasure in it. For who that loves an art — 
any art — intensely, does not enjoy with equal intensity 
opening it to another, wakening and educating another's 
appreciation of it? 

And it was not only the music that Honora was 
learning to appreciate: the majestic harmonies carried 
to her mind a growing realization of the great sacrificial 
rite of the ages for which they were written; and, in 
the light of Bernard's explanations, she saw with her 
mind's eye, and seeing understood, those strange 
movements of the priest about the altar at which in 
the past she had more than once looked in ignorant 
wonder, and with the involuntary dislike of Protestant- 
ism. Now she was conscious of a sudden longing to 
see them again. 

"I think I should understand a Mass now," she 
said one day abruptly, as Bernard's hands paused on 
the keys of the organ, while the last notes of the 
Benedictus of Gounod's Messe Solcnnelle died away. 
"You and the music together have interpreted it for 
me, so that I seem to comprehend clearly what I 

[ 200 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

couldn't comprehend at all before. It was all so 
unintelligible, so unlike anything I had ever known. 
But I should feel differently now, and — and I would 
like to hear a -Mass again." 

Bernard looked at her with eyes which were a little 
startled. For the first time he realized how far he had 
been led away from his own resolutions, and how far 
he had been leading her along a path that was barred 
to her. 

"I have no doubt you would understand the 
meaning of the Mass better now," he said, trying to 
speak carelessly. " It is a great act of worship, a sacrifice 
offered to Almighty God; and Protestants, you know, 
have lost that idea altogether, so it's not strange you 
didn't comprehend it." 

"I should like to see a Mass again," she repeated. 
"It would be interesting in the light of the new 
knowledge that has come to me." She paused, hesitated 
an instant, and then asked: "Do you think there is 
any reason why I shouldn't gratify my desire, — why 
I shouldn't go to the Catholic church here?" 

'There's every reason," Bernard replied hastily. 
'You've no idea of the gossip that would ensue. 
Kingsford would be convulsed. Everybody would be 
sure that you were going to become a Catholic." 

"What difference would that make?" She spoke 
a little haughtily. "I can't imagine anything of less 
importance than what Kingsford chose to think or 
say of my actions." 

"Don't be too scornful of public opinion," Bernard 
admonished her smilingly. "Sometimes it has a right 
instinct. I think that it would have in this case. 
Everyone knows the condition on which you inherited 

[ 201 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the Chisholm fortune; and people would be right 
in thinking that while you held the fortune you should 
not forget the condition." 

"I should not forget it because I went to hear a 
Mass in a Catholic church. Numbers of Protestants 
visit Catholic churches purely from curiosity." 

He looked at her with a quick, searching intentness. 

"Would you go purely from curiosity?" he asked. 

"From what other possible motive could I go?" 
she parried. 

"Then don't go!" he told her very decidedly. 
"Curiosity is not a proper motive for going to witness 
the most solemn act of religious worship in the world. 
Ignorance would excuse it in many people, but not 
in you. And then — " 

"Yes, then—?" 

"You owe a respect to the opinions of the man who 
gave you his wealth as long as you enjoy that wealth; 
and I can assure you that there is nothing he would 
more strongly have disapproved than your visiting 
the Catholic church, even from motives of curiosity." 

For the first time since he had known her, he saw 
the blood mount to her face as if she were offended. 

"In accepting Mr. Chisholm's fortune," she said, 
"I did not give up my freedom either of thought or 
of action." 

"Forgive me," he replied gently, "but I think you 
did. And may I not remind you that you recognized 
this yourself when you felt in New York that it was 
a point of honor not to go again to the church where 
you had found such mysterious peace?" 

She looked at him silently for a moment, and in 
her eyes he read something which startled him more 

[ 202 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

than he had been startled yet. Then she dropped her 
lids, and said quietly: 

"You are right. What was a point of honor in 
New York, where no one knew me or eared what I 
did, is doubly a point of honor here, where everybody 
knows what I should be disregarding. Well, I won't 
go to the Catholic church in Kingsford. I will wait 
to gratify my curiosity until I am out of sight of every- 
one who knows me. That will be when I go abroad— 
for I have promised Cecily that I will go." 

"Oh, Cecily has carried her point, has she? I 
thought she would." 

"Cecily always carries her points," Honora stated 
simply. "One might as well give up at first, for one 
has to give up at last — she is so quietly persistent. 
And, then, I've recognized that there's really no reason 
why I should not gratify her." 

"There's every good reason if you don't wish to 
go yourself," Bernard remarked. 

She made a little gesture signifying indifference. 

"That doesn't matter at all," she said. "Personally, 
I should prefer to stay here, where everything is so 
peaceful and restful. But Cecily says that I don't need 
rest, that what I need is to be excited and interested 
and taken out of myself, and — and to shake off morbid 
fancies. And probably she is right." 

"I'm quite sure that she isn't right," Bernard said 
decidedly. "She is simply making a plea for her own 
selfishness, if you'll forgive my frankness. And what 
morbid fancies does she think that you need to shake 
off?" 

There was a distinct shadow of trouble in the eyes 
that met his now. And as he saw it, he remembered 

[ 203] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Cecily's question — "What is the matter with Honora?" 
What, indeed, was the matter which gave that look, 
as if a haunted conscience suddenly gazed at him out 
of the beautiful eyes? 

'That is merely Cecily's way of talking," Honora 
said hastily. "She is apt to describe what she doesn't 
understand as morbid fancies. I really don't think 
that I have anything of the kind." 

"I have never seen any one whom I should judge 
to be less subject to anything morbid," Bernard told 
her — ' ' except — ' ' 

"Yes?" 

"Except that a sensitive conscience, which you 
clearly possess, sometimes inclines that way. You ought 
to be on your guard against such a danger." 

"But how can I be on my guard?" It was a 
positive wail of entreaty which escaped her. "One 
doesn't make situations for oneself — at least I haven't 
made them: they are created by others. And if one 
is thrust into them, and — and sees no way out, between 
conflicting claims — oh, I shouldn't be talking like this! 
It is foolish and useless, and there's no reason why I 
should trouble you with my — fancies." 

"I'm inclined to think that there is a very strong 
reason why you should," he said. In truth, a flash of 
illumination had come to him: it was quite clear that 
the girl was tortured by some scruple of conscience, 
and to what or to whom could this relate but to the 
fortune she had inherited, and to himself? He suddenly 
recalled having heard Mr. Maxwell speak of a letter 
from his uncle which existed besides the will. Might 
not this letter contain something which would account 
for all that had puzzled both Cecily and himself in the 

[ 204] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

attitude of the heiress toward her inheritance? Still 
sitting on the organ bench, he turned squarely toward 
her with a light of resolution on his face. 

"See here!" he said. "I am going to be perfectly 
candid with you, and I beg you to be candid with me. 
There's something troubling you which can't be allowed 
to go on; for I'm certain that it rests on a misapprehen- 
sion, and that it relates to your inheritance and to me. 
What charge did my uncle lay upon you in the letter 
he addressed to you in connection with his will?" 

If he had exploded a bomb at her feet he could 
hardly have surprised her more than with this most 
unexpected question. Her lips sprang open, as well as 
her eyes, as she gazed at him speechlessly for a moment. 
And then, 

"What do you know about the letter?" she gasped. 

"I know — I've known all along — that it exists," 
he replied; "but beyond that, nothing. I've never 
been curious about it, because I felt that its contents, 
whatever they were, didn't concern me. But I see now 
that was only a proof of my stupidity. My poor uncle — 
it would have been exactly like him! — has evidently 
laid some charge upon you with regard to me. Now 
I have a right to know, and you must tell me what 
it is." 

"I can't tell you, and you have no right to demand 
that I shall," she answered, regaining something of 
self-possession. "The letter was addressed to me, and 
was strictly confidential." 

He nodded. "I understand that. But you can't 
deny that it relates to me?" 

"I'm not bound to deny it, or to tell you anything 
about its contents," she answered, with a flash of 
spirit. [ 2Q5 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"No, you are not bound to do so," he assented; 
"but you will, because it's only right that I should 
know the nature of the charge which is troubling you 
so deeply. However, if you are resolved not to tell 
me, I can give a shrewd guess, knowing my uncle 
as well as I did — " 

"I would rather that you did not guess, that you 
said nothing more about it," she interrupted. "It 
does not seem right; it is the violation of a trust." 

"Not on my part," he told her quietly. "No trust 
has been given to me. So I am violating nothing in 
saying that I feel sure that Uncle Alexander, being 
sorry at the last for his conduct toward me (which, 
nevertheless, his pride and obstinacy would not permit 
him to change), tried to modify the situation he had 
himself created, by saddling your inheritance with 
some condition or charge which has deprived you of 
what should be your enjoyment in it. You can't 
deny this?" 

She made no effort to do so: she only sat, gazing 
at him dumbly, and wondering how far his intuitions 
would carry him. 

"Now," he went on, "that is plain; and there 
remains only the point: what did he tell you to dot 
Was it — could it possibly have been — to provide for 
me, by keeping me in charge of the business of the 
estate?" 

"No, no!" she cried. "He never mentioned such a 
thing. That was my own idea altogether. I — I felt 
that you ought to remain here — that you ought to be 
kept in touch with things." 

"Why?" He pressed the inquiry almost sternly. 
"Why should I remain here, why continue in touch 

[206] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

with things in which I have no longer any interest, if 
it was not to throw a few crumbs of benefit to me 
from the fortune I had forfeited? It is true that you 
put your request on the ground of helping you — the 
only ground that would have induced me to remain, — 
but my uncle must have written something which led 
to this thought on your part." 

"He did not," she asserted positively. "You must 
believe me when I tell you that he did not." 

"Of course I believe you," he assured her. "But, 
in that case, what charge did he lay upon you? It must 
have been something that was very near his heart." 

He paused and looked at her with a singular, con- 
centrated brightness in his eyes under their knitted 
brows. For a minute there was silence in the beautiful 
room, where the music had ceased to echo, and only 
the song of the thrushes came in through the open 
windows, together with the fragrance of the magnolia 
blooms from the garden beyond. Honora felt as if 
her mind lay open to that intent glance, and her heart 
was beating painfully as she waited for his next words. 
Suddenly they came, filled with a strange, compre- 
hending gentleness: 

"Nearest his heart!" Bernard murmured. "Ah, I 
see! Poor Uncle Alexander! He asked you to draw 
me away from the Catholic Church." 

"And if he did," Honora cried passionately, "don't 
you see that it was his affection for you that made him 
snatch at so desperate a hope of influencing you? He 
must have known that I would have no power to do 
what he wished; but he was dying, and it was his 
only hope. Oh, don't you see the poignant sadness 
of it?" 

[ 207 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Yes, I see," Bernard answered with the same 
gentleness that had been in his voice before. "And 
I see, too, what a weight it has been upon you, — 
burdened with such an impossible task, and tormenting 
yourself over it." 

"No, I haven't tormented myself," she said. "I've 
only felt as if I must make the attempt demanded of 
me. And you know how ineffectual the effort has 
been. I soon saw that nothing could change you, — 
nothing at least that I could offer — " 

"Nothing that any one could offer," he said. "And 
what was the rest of Uncle Alexander's dream? If you 
succeeded in reconverting me — in bringing me back, 
as he would have said, from the 'errors of Rome,' — 
what was to happen then? Were you bidden to share 
your inheritance with me? How much my uncle must 
Tiave forgotten about me before he could have dreamed 
of such a thing!" 

"He didn't dream of it," Honora declared. "He 
made no such suggestion. All this is pure conjecture 
on your part, and you are forcing me to talk of some- 
thing of which I have no right to speak. It was a 
matter that was to be a secret between us — between 
him and me, — and now you have made me violate 
his confidence!" 

"Oh, no!" Bernard said. "I have only guessed, 
without any help from you, something which I might 
have suspected from the first. And I am glad that I 
have guessed it ; for I hope that I may be able to relieve 
your mind of a weight that should never have been 
laid upon it. I understand now why you have showed 
so much interest in my conversion, — in learning what 
hold my faith has upon me; and I think you must 

f 208] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

be convinced that there is no ground to hope that 
I could be induced to give it up for any earthly- 
consideration." 

Meeting his eyes, filled with that inner light which 
she had seen in them once or twice before, she felt 
indeed thoroughly certain that no earthly considera- 
tion — neither wealth nor power, nor yet the love of a 
woman, as his uncle had hoped — could turn him from 
the faith which had been revealed to him, as to so 
many others down the long ages, in its meaning of 
sacrifice. A sharp pang — was it of envy? — contracted 
her heart, and it was a minute before she could control 
her voice sufficiently to say quietly: 

"You are right. I was fully convinced the last 
time that I talked to you on the subject that you 
would never change; and I felt also how inadequately 
I was equipped to attempt to change you. What had 
I to offer in exchange for your faith— the faith for 
which you had paid so dearly? I realized my own 
spiritual poverty, as I had never realized it before, 
when you asked what I would propose as an equivalent 
for what you possessed. I knew that I had nothing 
to propose — absolutely nothing, — and that my pre- 
sumption was equal to my inadequacy. Then I made 
up my mind that I couldn't make any further effort 
to do what had been asked of me. It was not only 
useless — it was not only that I realized that I had 
no power at all to influence you, — but I had reached 
a point where I ceased to desire to influence you; for 
I felt that you possessed something which it was a 
terrible thing even to try to tempt you to relinquish." 

Her voice fell, and again there was silence about 
them, — silence in which Bernard felt his own heart 

[ 209 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

beating painfully. For what did this comprehension 
on her part signify, except that some gleam of the 
light of faith had fallen upon her also? And what 
could that mean other than a struggle, a temptation, 
and a demanded choice to which his own had been 
as nothing? He w r as suddenly frightened at the vision 
of what might lie before her, if the divine call which 
he knew so well became insistent. And, before he 
realized what he was doing, he found himself praying — 
if strong desire be a prayer — that it might not be so, 
that she might be spared so hard a trial. He rose 
abruptly, and closed down the organ with a gesture 
of finality. 

"I am glad you understand so well — I mean about 
my position," he said. "It's really very clear, although 
my poor uncle could never comprehend it, — never be 
brought to see that it was founded on something 
altogether unalterable. He hoped— evidently to the 
last — that I might change again. And so he burdened 
you with an impossible task. What a wild, what an 
utterly inexplicable idea on his part it was!" 

But as he stared at her, lost in wonder at this 
inexplicable idea, he saw T the blood mount again to 
her face in a sudden tide, and the meaning of all that 
his uncle had hoped and planned flashed upon him. 
Yes, it was quite clear. All else having failed, the 
old man had deliberately arranged a supreme and, 
as he hoped, irresistible temptation for him. Wealth 
alone had proved insufficient to move him; well, then, 
let the attractions of a woman be thrown into the 
balance also. This was why the fortune that should 
have been his was put into the hands of a girl. He 
remembered a suggestion of Miss Rainesford's to that 

[ 210] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

effect, at which he had laughed, telling her that his 
uncle was not likely to have indulged in romantic 
scheming. But now he saw that he had done so, — 
only it was not romantic scheming, but a somewhat 
cynical calculation and building upon the force of the 
two strongest passions of man's nature, cupidity and 
love. Put them together (so he could hear the old 
man saying to himself), and even the fascinations of 
Rome must go down before them. Therefore he had 
carefully selected a woman who, he believed, would 
please Bernard's rather difficult taste; he had endowed 
her with the fortune that should have been his, and 
he had bidden her use every weapon in her power to 
induce him to relinquish his religion. How she was 
directed to reward him after this end had been accom- 
plished, Bernard refused to consider; but he saw how 
heavily the weight of the imposed task had lain upon 
a sensitive conscience, and in his heart he cried re- 
proachfully: "O Uncle Alexander, how could you 
have done it!" 

But even as these thoughts were passing through 
his mind — very much more rapidly than they have 
been set down here — Honora, with an instinct of 
them, said hurriedly: 

"I hope you are not thinking too hardly of your 
uncle for giving me such a charge. If I could show 
you his letter (which I can't, because he bids me keep 
it secret, and I am sorry that you have guessed any- 
thing about it), you would see how pathetic this last 
effort of his was, — how entirely it was because he 
loved and thought of you to the last, and strove to 
find an instrument, however weak, to do his will after 
he was dead." 

[211] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"That was it— to do his will!" the young man 
said a little bitterly. "Nothing else mattered. He 
used you as a mere pawn for that end, never thinking 
for a moment of how painful the position in which 
he placed you might be. Of course if you had been like 
other people — that is, like many other people — you 
would have taken so impossible a charge lightlv 
enough; you would have seen the futility and utter 
unreasonableness of it, and put it aside, while you 
enjoyed your inheritance care-free. But you are not 
like that. Unfortunately, he chanced upon a very 
sensitive instrument; and you have allowed yourself 
to worry over the matter until even your sister has 
perceived it." 

"Has she, possibly, spoken to you of my worrying?" 

"Yes, she spoke of it to me some time ago, asking 
if I could throw any light on your singular attitude. 
But I was stupid, and I couldn't — then." 

"I am glad you couldn't. I should be sorry for 
Cecily to know or guess anything about your uncle's 
appeal to me. She would think me absolutely foolish 
to heed it at all." 

"And for once Cecily would be right," Bernard 
said. "She can be trusted to grasp the common-sense 
point of view; and you need to have that pressed upon 
you. Failing Cecily, will you let me express it? Briefly, 
then, you have faithfully endeavored to fulfil the task 
my poor uncle was inconsiderate enough to lay upon 
you; and, having learned its hopelessness, having 
found me obstinate and immovable in my tabooed 
religion, you can now enjoy your inheritance, as you 
have not yet enjoyed it, with a conscience thoroughly 
at rest. And I raav add that nothing could srivc 

[ 212 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

me more pleasure than that you should do this." 

She looked up at him as he stood before her holding 
out his hand. And, as in the garden on that afternoon 
when they talked last of his religion, he saw the leaf- 
brown beauty of her eyes through a mist of crystal 
tears. 

"And while I take and enjoy all that should be 
yours," she said, "what is left for you?" 

His smile flashed at her now like sunshine; yet 
he hesitated for an instant before answering — and 
she could not resist the impression that he hesitated 
through delicacy, as one who would not wish to boast 
of wealth before a pauper. Then: 

' ' I must not even try to tell you what is left for 
me," he said gently. "It would — let me say it once 
more — lead us too far. Only believe, for your own 
comfort, that I am perfectly satisfied, and that sym- 
pathy is quite thrown away on me. Nevertheless, I 
am grateful for yours; and so" (he lifted her hand and 
touched the fingers lightly with his lips) "thanks and 
good-by!" 



[213] 



CHAPTER XVI. 

NOTWITHSTANDING the very clear under- 
standing between Cecily and Julian Page — or 
perhaps because of that understanding, — their 
intimacy, which Cecily preferred to call their cama- 
raderie, had not lessened in the least degree. Julian 
remained as much her devoted admirer as ever, and 
she was as frankly receptive of his devotion, — their 
whole attitude being that of people who possessed in 
common the knowledge of a very different world from 
that in which they had met, as well as certain esoteric 
ideas and standards which set them apart from the 
old-fashioned society around them. 

The Philistine bias of this society was indeed 
strongly evidenced by the manner in which their inti- 
macy was regarded. 

"I suppose we shall have the announcement of 
your son's engagement to the younger Miss Trezevant 
very soon," her old friends frequently remarked to 
Mrs. Page, who in reply would shake her head with 
an enigmatic smile. 

"I think not," she replied on one of these occasions. 
"Julian only laughs when I speak of anything of the 
kind, and says that I don't know the modern view of 
the relations between young men and women. It seems 
that they are allowed to be intimate friends without 
an idea of — er — marrying; and it's considered very 
narrow-minded to object to such intimacy." 

[214] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I should call it simply flirtation," the friend, 
who was outspoken as well as old-fashioned, observed. 
"Men and women can't be made over again by any 
modern views; and you can't turn an old thing into 
a new one by giving it a new name. If those two are 
not engaged, or going to be, they are just simply 
flirting." 

"Well, at least they know what they are about, 
and neither is likely to harm the other," Mrs. Page 
said, with a resigned sigh. "There's that good thing 
about the modern sort of flirting, that they are quite 
frank with each other. From what Julian says, I 
fancy that he and Cecily Trezevant have had a per- 
fectly clear understanding." 

"An understanding of what kind, in the name of 
conscience?" 

"Well, that there's to be no question of marriage 
between them, I suppose, — at least that's what I 
infer from things he has let fall. It seems Cecily has 
a very exalted idea of her capacities and deserts: she 
thinks that she is so beautiful and so clever that, now 
that she has money besides, she ought to make some 
very brilliant marriage. And Julian is quite beneath 
her notice." 

"Set her up!" the indignant listener ejaculated. 
"Her head is completely turned with vanity and 
conceit. She's pretty enough, but no great beauty to 
my mind; and the money isn't hers at all but her 
sister's." 

"Oh, she considers it the same as if it were hers! 
And I suppose it is the same," Mrs. Page replied. 
" Honora has no will of her own where Cecily is 
concerned." 

[215] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"She'd better develop one, if she doesn't want 
ducks and drakes made of her fortune," the other 
declared; "for everybody is talking of this girl's 
extravagance. They say she spends money like 
water." 

"She has a very handsome allowance, and uses it 
as she pleases," Mrs. Page explained. "But Alicia 
says that she always gets a good return for what she 
spends. She's really very shrewd; and, while I don't 
like her as I like Honora, I can understand her charm. 
But I wish Julian had never seen her!" the mother 
ended, with another sigh. 

And there was reason enough for this wish, from 
Mrs. Page's point of view. Julian, in her opinion, 
needed a steadying influence in his life; and when he 
returned home from that art existence abroad which 
she had so deeply distrusted, she hoped that this 
influence might be found in some one of the girls of 
his native place, who had been reared in the old 
traditions so dear to her heart. But she soon perceived 
that, except in a very light and transitory fashion, 
these girls did not attract Julian's errant fancy. Taxed 
with this, he acknowledged that they lacked a flavor 
which his sophisticated taste demanded. "They are 
pretty and refined, and natural as flowers," he said. 
"But they don't know anything about my world, and 
I couldn't live in theirs. So there you are! They are 
provincial in taste and type, and I'm — er — cosmo- 
politan, you see." 

"You're impertinent and spoiled, and the girls are 
ever so much too goo d for you!" Alicia told him with 
ruffled plumage, like a small bird up in ar ms for its 
companions. 

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THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"No doubt they are, and that is just what's the 
matter," he laughed. "Insipid food may be very 
healthful, but it's not stimulating to the palate after 
one has known highly spiced and seasoned dishes; 
or, to make another comparison, these girls are like 
milk and water, and I want — oh, I want champagne!" 

Alicia eyed him disapprovingly. 

"It sounds very dissipated," she observed severely. 
"I think the champagne would be likely to go to your 
head." 

"The sooner the better!" he responded fervently. 

And the champagne not only arrived, but mounted 
to his head with amazing quickness, when Cecily 
appeared, — Cecily with her flavor of the world he 
loved and longed for, with a beauty that fascinated 
all the artist in him, and a charm as subtle, as full 
of infinite variety as that (the comparison was his) 
of the "serpent of old Nile," the eternal type of the 
enchantress of the souls of men. 

As may readily be perceived, much of this was 
exaggeration; for Cecily, with all her power to charm, 
was by no means a Cleopatra. But an artist in love 
is even more prone to exaggerate than other men in 
the same condition. And Cecily, having nothing else 
of interest to do — since Bernard Chisholm proved 
strangely insensible to her charms, — found amusement 
in alternately enchanting and tormenting the young 
man with whom she had so much in common, and 
who really attracted her more than she would confess 
to herself, much less to him. For they were of the 
same world; they talked in a language which was 
largely unintelligible to those around them; and, 
since she had been perfectly explicit with him, and he 

[ 217 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

was thoroughly aware of her plan of life, she saw no 
reason for deferring to the prejudices of his narrow- 
minded relatives and friends, so far as their intimacv 
was concerned. 

It came to pass very naturally, therefore, that 
when Mr. and Mrs. Robert Selwyn were planning for 
an automobile trip through the beautiful mountain 
region of the Blue Ridge, they should have thought of 
inviting Julian and Cecily to accompany them, and 
that both of the latter should have accepted with 
enthusiasm. To Julian it was an altogether delightful 
opportunity for artistic work, and for the unrestricted 
enjoyment of Cecily's society; while Cecily herself, 
avid for pleasure of any kind, told Honora that she 
considered the arrangement quite perfect. 

"The Selwyns are really charming people," she 
said; "and I'm sure we shall have a most delightful 
trip, breaking it when and where we please; and 
especially by a few weeks at Lake Toxaway, where 
Julian is making plans to do an immense amount of 
sketching. Edith says the party will be very dis- 
tinguished, with an artist along, and — er — " 

"Don't be modest!" Honora laughed. "For what 
part are you cast?" 

"Oh, 'the beautiful Miss Trezevant,' of course!" 
Cecily laughed in turn. "It's wonderful how one is 
appreciated when one's qualities of beauty, or whatever 
else they may be, are set in a frame of gold! There's 
no good in being cynical, however. One must take the 
world as one finds it, and I find it a very agreeable place 
since we have had plenty of money. O Honora, isn't 
it like an awful dream, to remember that narrow, 
struggling life of poverty, with never a gleam of 

[218] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

pleasure or hint of luxury, that we lived in New 
York 5 " 

Honora looked at her with a sudden gravity on her 
face. 

'Yes," she said, "it is dreadful to think of; but 
it would be more dreadful still if this were the dream 
and we had to go back to the other." 

"Go back to it!" Cecily echoed the words in a 
key of angry amazement. "What do you mean? How 
could we have to go back to it?" 

"We couldn't," Honora assured her hastily. "I 
was only wondering — what you would do in such a 
case?" 

"I should kill myself," replied Cecily, promptly. 
"You needn't have any doubt about that. But what 
is the sense of such disagreeable and preposterous 
suggestions?" 

"Isn't it good for us to contrast sometimes the 
present with the past?" 

"No, it isn't," Cecily contradicted, unmindful of 
the fact that she had introduced the distasteful subject. 
"It's never good to think of detestable things, and 
what on earth is so detestable as poverty. You're 
morbid, Honora,— positively morbid! I've told you 
so before, and I'm certain that the sooner we get away 
from this place the better." 

"What influence do you think there is in this place 
to make me morbid 5 " Honora inquired. 

"I don't know," Cecily replied; "but I haven't 
any doubt of the fact that you are morbid." She 
paused, and considered the other for a moment with 
bright, keen eyes, in which there was a gleam of dis- 
trust. "I'm rather sorry to leave you here alone while 

[219] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

I go on this trip with the Selwyns," she then said. 
"But I hope you will occupy the time by getting ready 
for our departure as soon as possible after I return. 
Do finish all that stupid work about the factories, — 
or, better yet, put it all in Bernard Chisholm's hands, 
and arrange everything so that we can get off without 
delay. And, in making your arrangements, don't 
forget that we are not going on a sight-seeing tour or 
anything of that kind: we are going to stay as long as 
we please, and, so far as I am concerned, I think that 
will be altogether; for I intend to become one of the 
much talked-of American women who marry men of 
rank and live abroad." 

"Have you told Julian Page of your intentions?" 

"As much as concerns him. He knows perfectly 
well that I haven't the faintest intention of marrying 
mm. 

"Then I must say that I think you are acting 
very badly in letting him be as devoted to you as 
he is, and in going on this journey, where you will 
be thrown with him so constantly." 

Cecily opened her pansy eyes very wide. 

"How utterly absurd!" she remarked. "Upon my 
weed, you are as old-fashioned in your ideas as if you 
had been brought up in Kingsford by — by Cousin 
Mary Page!" 

"I might be many worse things than old-fashioned," 
Honora replied with spirit. "And I don't think any 
fashion, new or old, excuses playing with a man's heart 
for amusement." 

"My dear, you are really too ridiculous! Julian 
is a modern man, as I am a modern woman, and under- 
stands the situation as well as I do. He would only 

[ 220 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

laugh at the idea of your wasting sympathy on him, 
and he'd be very sorry if I became so considerate of 
his heart as to deprive him of any of my society while 
he can still enjoy it." 

"And you are planning that he shall soon lose it 
altogether! Cecily, I don't understand how you can 
be so heartless." 

"You mean that you don't understand why I'm 
not as sentimental as you are," Cecily returned, in 
a tone of unmistakable contempt for all sentimentality, 
past, present, or to come. "Well, I couldn't make 
you understand if I talked all day. So why talk at all? 
My wings are spread for a wide flight into the world — 
the enchanting, distant, great world, — and not a 
hundred Julian Pages could hold me back. He's really 
very attractive, though," she added reflectively, "and 
I shall enjoy this trip we are to take together very 
much, — we are so thoroughly sympathetic in our tastes 
and ideas." 

"Cecily, why shouldn't you marry him?" Honora 
asked desperately. "It would be so suitable in every 
respect." 

"Do you think so?" It was a flash of scorn that 
shone in Cecily's eyes now. "That only shows how 
thoroughly commonplace you are in your ideas, and 
how little you know me. Wait and see what I will 
do with the unique opportunity fortune has given 
me; and then you will appreciate the absurdity of 
suggesting that I should throw it away by marrying 
Julian Page." 

"I really think," said Honora, "that you are dis- 
tracted with ambition and vanity, and — and it makes 
me afraid, to hear you talk as you do!" 

[ 221 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Afraid of what?" 

"Of some terrible disappointment for you in the 
way you've planned for yourself." 

"Don't trouble about that!" Cecily's tone was 
arrogant as well as scornful — and involuntarily she 
glanced at the reflection of her brilliant beauty in a 
mirror opposite. "I will take care that I am not 
disappointed. Only stupid people allow things to go 
wrong with them when they are equipped to succeed 
as I am. Now, we won't discuss the matter further; 
for I only shock you, and there's nothing gained by 
that. To return to our mutton: I'm sure I shall have 
a charming trip with the Selwyns. And meanwhile 
why shouldn't you take our car and make a few excur- 
sions on your own account? You can easily get up a 
party, for everybody is wild about motoring." 

"I will think of it," said Honora. 

She thought of it to such purpose that, a day or 
two after the departure of the Selwyn party in their 
great touring car, she went to see Miss Rainesford, 
and asked that lady if she would not like to make 
an excursion with her into the picturesque mountain 
region which lay so near to them. 

"I shall be charmed to go," Miss Rainesford replied. 
"I've always longed to set out in a motor car and 
travel when and where I pleased. It's the absolutely 
ideal way of seeing a country. And how lovely of you 
to give me the opportunity at last!" 

Honora had a swift thought of the motors (together 
with all other signs and symbols of wealth) that would 
have been at the speaker's command, had she followed 
the easy road of worldly prudence and married the 

[ 222 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

man who possessed them all, but who had refused to 
make "the promises." 

"I am so glad that you like the idea," she said. 
"I hoped that you would, for I think we can make the 
trip delightful. And would you mind not having any 
one along beside ourselves?" 

"My dear, that is what I would like of all things," 
Miss Rainesford responded enthusiastically. "I can't 
endure travelling parties, unless they are made up of 
the choicest possible elements, — such elements as are 
not easily brought together. Just you and I alone, 
will be perfect." 

'You see, other people might not care for the 
same things that we would," Honora explained. "I 
am going to let you plan the journey. We will go 
where you please, and stay as long or as short a time 
as you like. But there is one place I should like to 
include in our itinerary, if you don't object." 

"Imagine my objecting to any place you would 
like to include! What is it?" 

Honora hesitated for an instant, and then — 

"Perhaps you'll think it odd," she said a little 
deprecatingly, "but I have a great curiosity to see that 
Benedictine Monastery of which you and . Bernard 
Chisholm have talked, and where he was converted. 
There's something very strange about the idea of such 
a place in this country, — as if a bit of the Middle Ages 
had been brought and set down in the most incongruous 
surroundings of the modern world." 

"I don't find anything odd in your desire to go 
there," Miss Rainesford replied promptly. "Of course 
it's interesting and piques curiosity immensely, the 
idea of a Benedictine abbey in this intensely Protestant 

[ 223 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

country. But you won't find anything incongruous 
about it. The most remarkable thing that will strike 
you is how much in place it seems, how thoroughly 
it fits into its environment." 

"Forgive me, but I can't believe that. It must 
seem — archaic. Bernard himself said that to go there 
was like stepping into another world." 

"In the sense that he meant, it is another world: 
it is the supernatural brought into the midst of the 
purely natural. But it's as if it belonged there, — as 
if it were a note which had been lacking all along, 
but was now supplied; and, being supplied, harmony 
results. You can't understand now what I mean, but 
you'll see." 

"Shall I?" Honora's eyes were very bright. "It 
will interest me extremely. And we can go there, 
then? Visitors are permitted?" 

"Oh, yes! Visitors are received most courteously. 
Hospitality is a Benedictine rule, you know. And I 
suppose you would like to see something in the way 
of a religious function, wouldn't you?" 

"I should like it very much, and to hear some 
music." 

Miss Rainesford nodded approval. 

"So should I," she said. "And, by a fortunate 
chance, you have expressed the desire just at a time 
when it is possible to gratify it. Next Thursday is 
the Feast of Corpus Christi — but of course you don't 
know anything about that?" 

"Nothing in the world," Honora confessed. 
"Perhaps you'll tell me what it is." 

"I need only tell you what the name itself tells — 
that it's the Feast of the Body of Christ: in other 

[224] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

words, of the Blessed Sacrament. It's a wonderful 
fete day in Catholic countries; but in this country 
it is no longer of obligation, and is therefore observed 
only in religious communities. I've heard that it is 
beautifully celebrated at Belmont — that's the Abbey, — 
and I've long wished I could go there for the occasion, 
but it has never been possible for me to do so." 

"I'm almost glad that it never has been," Honora 
exclaimed, "since now I have the great pleasure of 
rendering it easy for you to go, and of going with 
you. Oh, do let us make our arrangements at once 
to be at Belmont in good time for the celebration! 
It is an opportunity such as I never expected to 
have — here." 



[225 



CHAPTER XVII. 

IT was a delightful country through which the car 
was running so swiftly and smoothly on that 
radiant June morning of the Feast of Corpus 
Christi, — a softly rolling country of lovely greenness, 
with spreading fields where the golden-headed wheat 
stood ready for the reaping, or blades of young corn 
were springing freshly out of the rich, brown earth. 
There was a great sense of wide space everywhere. 
The woods were wearing their luxuriant crowns of 
full summer foliage; and the air was filled with the 
songs of birds, which rose unceasingly toward the 
sky of stainless sapphire. It was a day to make the 
heart sing with the happiness of mere existence, — an 
ideal day for speeding along level roads, flecked by 
sunshine and shadow, through a land of smiling beauty. 
And the two in Honora's luxurious car, who had spent 
the night before in a near-by town, and were now, 
in the early morning freshness, on their way to the 
Abbey of Belmont, looked at each other with pleasure 
too deep for words. 

"Isn't it heavenly?" Honora asked. "Have you 
ever before felt so grateful for being alive, — just simply 
alive?" 

"And for all that being alive implies," Miss Raines- 
ford assented. "And it implies a great deal to-day; 

[226] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

for I'm thinking of what is going on, spiritually, all 
over the world, — of the many places where the Lord 
who created the earth, and the beauty thereof, is being 
borne out, with pomp and solemnity, to bless its fairness, 
as well as to receive the homage of men. You've never 
seen a Corpus Christi procession, have you?" 

Honora shook her head. 

"How should I?" she replied. 

Miss Rainesford drew in her breath. 

"Then there's a wonderful experience before you 
to-day," she said. 

"You mean that the ceremonies we are to witness 
are so impressive?" 

"Impressive, yes, and beautiful, and moving in 
the deepest sense. I think you will find them all of 
that. And I believe you may find them even more." 

Honora gave her a quick glance. 

"What more could I find them?" 

"Ah, there is much more that you could find them!" 
the other answered. "The beauty and the impressive- 
ness are merely on the surface, for any one to perceive 
who has eyes to see and an imagination to kindle. 
But what lies beneath— what they are there to 
indicate—" 

She paused abruptly, as if fearing to say too much. 
And to herself she was, in fact, saying, "Bernard 
would tell me that I am doing wrong in bringing her 
here on such an occasion, knowing that she is already 
attracted and interested by the Church more than 
she is aware. But I don't agree with him, — I don't! 
He believes that it would be impossible for her to 
make the sacrifice which conversion to the faith would 
entail, and so he wants to shield her from suffering 

[227] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and struggle and responsibility. But I don't think 
that one has the right to deprive a soul of the oppor- 
tunity to make the supreme choice. She is entitled to 
her chance; for what is any suffering, any struggle, 
any sacrifice in comparison to what she would gain 
if she were strong enough to choose rightly? I suppose 
it is too much to expect that she would, that she could, 
pay the price demanded; but she shall have her 
chance, — she shall! And, after all, it wasn't I who 
proposed our coming here." 

"It was you who proposed and arranged the coming 
to-day," an inner voice reminded her. 

"Well, yes, I did as much as that," she acknowledged 
to the monitor. "But there was no reason why I 
shouldn't. She wanted to witness a religious function, 
and I have long wanted to come here for Corpus Christi. 
Why should I have denied both of us so much pleasure 
on account of Bernard's scruples, which I don't share? — 
Look, Honora!" she suddenly exclaimed aloud. "There 
are the monastery buildings, and you can see the spires 
of the church!" 

Honora looked eagerly in the direction indicated, 
and saw a great mass of stately buildings set on a 
wide, level plateau in the midst of verdure, of leafy 
avenues and great forest oaks; and, as the dominating 
note of the picture, a Gothic church of imposing design, 
lifting its cross-crowned spires toward the deep-blue 
Carolina sky, while at this moment its bells broke 
forth in summoning peal. 

"We are just in time for Mass," said Miss Rainesford; 
and bade the chauffeur, instead of turning into the 
avenue which led to the entrance of the college, drive 
on to the end of a broad, stone-paved walk which 

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THE SECRET BEQUEST 
extended from the highway to the door of the church. 

A singular feeling came over Honora when they 
entered the church a few minutes later, — a feeling 
less of surprise for its stately proportions, its beautiful 
stained glass, and elaborately decorated altar, than 
of a strange familiarity, — as if, after long absence, she 
had returned to a place which was the native land 
of her soul, and which welcomed her with an atmos- 
phere which she had not felt since she went out from 
the church of St. Paul the Apostle on the day she 
heard of her unexpected inheritance. 

She followed Miss Rainesford, and sat down in a 
seat, her eyes fastened on the lamp — burning like the 
lamp she remembered in that other church — before 
the altar; and again there came over her the con- 
sciousness of a Presence, of something warm, welcoming, 
personal, which banished all sense of coldness and 
emptiness from the building. And then some words 
of Bernard Chisholm recurred to her: "The church 
simply wasn't empty: the Blessed Sacrament was 
there." Yes, it must be that, — that was what made 
the difference between Catholic churches and all others. 
But even if the Blessed Sacrament were there, why, 
in God's name, should she be so conscious of Its 
presence, — she who did not believe that It was more 
than a symbol and commemoration of an event which 
occurred nearly two thousand years ago? 

It was a relief from any attempt to answer the 
question, that her attention was now diverted by a 
stir of movement around her. There was a flutter 
of white veils on childish heads, a glimpse of grave 
childish faces, of baskets of flowers carried in small 

[229] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

hands, and filling the already flower-scented church 
with fresh fragrance; then came files of older girls; 
then black-robed Sisters from the convent near by, 
and following them the congregation streaming in. 
A moment later the organ pealed out; the clear, 
thrilling voices of boy sopranos rose; a procession in 
glittering robes entered the sanctuary, and the Mass 
of Corpus Christi began. 

And then Honora forgot everything else in trying 
to follow and understand this strange rite, which 
proceeded in such ordered solemnity, with movements 
and gestures that seemed to carry the mind back to 
the beginning of the world, — to strange altars in 
strange, wild places in the early twilight of human 
history; to sacrifices, "oblations of whole burnt offer- 
ings," from which rose a smoke of propitiation toward 
Heaven, even as the white clouds of incense were 
curling up in the sanctuary now. And, thanks to 
Bernard's instructions, the music served as an inter- 
pretation of what she might else have failed entirely 
to comprehend. It was like a voice speaking in majestic 
harmonies, and explaining the great act of worship 
taking place before her. That she understood it fully 
is, of course, too much to say; but, whether through 
the music or by some inward illumination, she grasped 
at least the essential meaning, the significance of 
ceremonies which are ordinarily quite meaningless to 
the uninstructed Protestant. Uninstructed in any 
true sense, Honora surely was; but just now something 
seemed to supply the place of instruction: she was 
conscious of a need in herself, which unaccountably 
responded to what was offered here, of finding, for the 
first time in her life, a worship which expressed, at 

[ 230] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the same time that it satisfied, the yearning and aspi- 
ration of the soul. 

But now the Mass was ended, and there was another 
movement about the altar. A great, golden osten- 
sorium, with sunlike rays, was brought forward. The 
white-veiled children, with flowers to scatter before 
the Sacred Host; acolytes with lighted candles; the 
censer-bearer with his smoking censer; the choir; 
the long train of priests, ending with the stately form 
of the Abbot-Bishop, looking as if he had stepped out 
of a painting by one of the old masters, — all these 
grouped and fell into their appointed places about 
that swaying canopy, under which there walked a 
priest in shining cope, a richly embroidered scarf about 
his shoulders, bearing the gleaming ostensorium, in the 
small central disk of which shone Something strangely, 
almost transparently white, at which Honora gazed 
with wide, wondering eyes as It passed, with clouds 
of fragrant incense rising before It, with lights and 
bells and scattered blossoms, while the solemn and 
glorious hymn of the ages rose in swelling chorus: 

Pange, lingua, gloriosi 
Corporis mysterium. 

As in a dream, Honora followed the procession 
which swept out of the church into the sunlight of the 
beautiful June day. It surely was a dream, this thrilling 
scene of religious worship and religious pageant, — a 
scene which might have been in place in Spain or 
Italy, but that seemed strange and alien beyond the 
power of words to express in this remote part of the 
most Protestant country left in the world. And yet 
she had a singular feeling that, strange as it was to 
every ideal of faith and worship which had existed here 

[ 231 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

since white men first came to the shores of America, 
it was not alien: on the contrary, it was as if a king, 
long banished from his rightful kingdom, had come 
at last to take possession of it in triumph. For what 
could more strikingly convey the sense of triumph 
than this procession, as of a sovereign's entry into 
his own ? Here were all the symbols of supreme honor, — 
the pealing bells flinging their joyous notes far and 
wide over the smiling land, the swelling music, the 
gleaming lights, the clouds of incense mounting Heaven- 
ward. And this not in any confined space — not under 
the roof of any building, however vast, — but out in 
the open air, under the broad sky, in the brilliant 
sunshine. 

And they who were conducting this procession, 
these surpliced priests and black-robed monks, were 
well used to leading such triumphs; for had they 
not, in the persons of their spiritual fathers, led the 
vanguard of the conquering hosts of Christ into every 
land of Europe, planted the Cross, planted also law, 
order and civilization, and out of pagan tribes formed 
the mighty nations of Christendom? Like most of 
those who have been reared in the narrow culture of 
Protestantism, Honora knew little or nothing of the 
true history of the modern world, and absolutely 
nothing of the formative influence exerted upon this 
world by the Church through her monastic Orders, 
and particularly through the pioneer and leader of 
all, the great Order of St. Benedict. She did not, 
therefore, know how altogether fitting it was that the 
sons of those who had carried the faith into every 
corner of the Old World should now lead the same 
conquering march in this new land, settled by the 

[ 232 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

descendants of those whom, in ages past, they had 
won from paganism, and whom it was now their harder 
task to win from the modern paganism which is the 
soul-destroying result of heresy. And they were bearing 
with them — they were carrying out to-day, that He 
might take possession of His own — One who had pur- 
chased His supreme right to men's souls by His death 
"beyond the city walls" on that spring day long 
ago! 

Ignorant as she was, with the pathetic ignorance 
of those outside the Church — those who have never 
looked at any question, either temporal or spiritual 
from the true angle of vision, — some dim instinct of 
these things was borne to Honora, as she walked beside 
her companion, as she saw the swaying golden canopy 
far ahead, gleaming in the sunlight, and caught the 
deep-toned, swelling music. 

And now the procession had passed far beyond the 
church, along the rose-edged paths of the flower-set 
space between the college and the monastery, and 
was descending — a marvellous scene indeed — a pictur- 
esque flight of stone steps into a deep green dell, where 
slender trees lifted their wealth of fresh foliage, where 
birds were singing an exquisite welcome, where a 
stream flowed in crystal clearness from a gushing spring, 
over which stood a shrine and statue of St. Wal- 
burga, and where on one side a hill rose steeply, and, 
in an ivy-draped niche among the rocks, a statue of 
Our Lady of Lourdes was enthroned, even as she is 
enthroned among the rocks of Massabielle. Beneath 
was an altar where (Miss Rainesford whispered) Mass 
was said every morning during the month of May; 

[ 233 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and on this altar, now blazing with lights, the Blessed 
Sacrament was deposited for adoration. 

Once more white clouds of incense rose, the choir 
broke into fresh song, and over the level, tree-shaded 
space between the hillside and the stream, the people 
knelt, behind the long train of ecclesiastics and religious. 
Honora knelt with the rest; and Miss Rainesford, 
glancing at her, saw that her face wore an expression 
of rapt emotion. Her eyes, large and brilliant beyond 
their ordinary seeming, were fastened on the white 
Host in the ostensorium, as if in wonder tinged with 
awe and also with questioning. Then came the moment 
of Benediction. The golden monstrance was lifted up, 
a great Sign of the Cross was made over the bent 
heads of the multitude, over the earth which God had 
made so fair, over the green trees, the flowing water, 
the singing birds, beloved of St. Francis; and then, 
as with a great burst, the Laudate Dominum rose, the 
procession rose also, and took its way across the rustic 
bridge which spanned the stream; and still singing, 
still bidding not only all people but all things to join 
in praising the Lord, mounted the hill beyond, and 
wound over a plateau set with tall pines. 

Honora drew a deep breath when, at the end of the 
line of climbing figures, she reached the summit of 
the hill; and all her childhood seemed to meet her 
in the scented breath of the pines, in the straight 
brown stems, with the sunlight falling upon them, and 
the straw-colored needles covering the earth beneath. 
How many Carolina highlands like this had she not 
seen and known, but when ever before for the setting 
of such a picture as that before her now? A wonderful 
picture surely, as the procession wound over the level 

[234] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

upland, the white-veiled children scattering flowers, 
the acolytes with their candles and bells, the golden- 
vested priest, the canopy covering the Presence; and 
all around the wide silence of the country, the solemn 
pines, and the far blue heaven above. And then in 
the midst of the woods they came upon an open space, 
and an altar stood decorated, lighted, ready for the 
Benediction to come. And here again the incensing, 
the singing, and the ostensorium flashing in the sun- 
light as the blessing was given once more. Then 
back along a woodland avenue under the sentinel 
pines, with the same music, flowers, lights and bells; 
down the hillside to the green, leafy dell, where Mary 
looked smiling from her high niche among the rocks; 
across the stream, up the picturesque stone stairway 
which led to the wide level space where the great 
cluster of buildings stood; along the rose-hedged paths, 
and so again into the church. 

It was after the procession had once more swept 
into the waiting sanctuary, when the organ had again 
sent forth its deep music, the thrilling voices risen 
in the glorious Latin hymns, and amid the same 
accompaniment of flowers, lights and incense, the 
final Benediction had been given, that Honora felt 
suddenly the reaction from the intense emotion to which 
she had been keyed. Up to this moment she had been 
overwhelmed, absorbed by the experience through 
which she was passing; she had had no thought for 
anything but this marvellous "ceremony," so strange, 
so novel, so satisfying to the instincts of human nature, 
which clamor to know and worship God; this beauty 
so moving through its appeal to all the senses; this 

[ 235] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

pageantry that, with its deep significance, its divine 
poetry, touches the deepest founts of emotion, and 
lifts the soul upward in a passion of adoration. 

All this she had felt: it had taken possession of 
her, and banished every other thought. Indescribably 
carried out of herself, touched, moved and melted, 
she had followed the crowd of worshippers, had knelt 
with them, and been conscious of an overwhelming 
influence which seemed to emanate from the white 
Host uplifted in benediction. But now suddenly all 
this exaltation of feeling died away, the emotions 
relaxed like the strings of an instrument that had 
been too highly keyed: she was conscious of a sense 
of flatness, of depression almost like despair; and, 
rising abruptly from her knees, she sat down. 

For a moment she had a feeling of something 
curiously like resentment, as if she had been moved 
and impressed against her judgment. "Don't be de- 
ceived!" something seemed to be whispering to her. 
"It was a purely emotional effect. Oh, they know how 
to play upon the emotions, these Catholics! They 
enlist every means— music, color, poetry, the charm 
of ordered, splendid pageantry, — but that is all. It 
is merely an appeal to the emotions." That God 
Himself had been carried out in the procession to bless 
His world was, she said to herself, too stupendously 
unbelievable to be credited. That for one moment it 
had seemed compellingly credible, was due no doubt 
to the contagion of the great wave of faith around 
her, — the atmosphere created by a multitude of ardent, 
believing souls. It was a faith which carried people 
away from all their moorings, and inspired a wild 
fanaticism of sacrifice. But neither such faith nor 

[236] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

such sacrifice was possible for her; so she had been 
mad to come here, and, yielding to a mysterious attrac- 
tion, expose herself to a danger she now understood. 
Well, at least she did understand it at last; and, so 
understanding, would go as quickly as possible. 

When Miss Rainesford presently finished her prayers 
and looked around at her companion, she was pain- 
fully struck by the whiteness of the girl's face. 

"Are you feeling ill?" she whispered quickly. "No?" 
(as Honora shook her head.) "Then I'm afraid you are 
very tired." 

"I am tired," Honora confessed. "If you don't 
mind, I should like to get away as soon as possible." 

"But," Miss Rainesford objected when a minute 
later they stood outside the door of the church, "I 
thought we were to spend a little time here. I wanted 
you to meet some of the Fathers, who are Bernard's 
friends and mine; and perhaps the Bishop himself — " 

But Honora put out her hand and drew her insist- 
ently away toward the car waiting for them at the 
end of the walk. 

"No, no!" she almost gasped in her eagerness. "I 
beg you let us go at once. I can stand no more to-day." 



[237 ] 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THAT a change of some kind had taken place 
in Honora, was perceptible to everyone who 
knew her, when she returned from her motor- 
trip with Miss Rainesford. It was a subtle but none 
the less decided change, as was evidenced by the fact 
that two such dissimilar persons as Mr. Maxwell and 
Alicia Page both remarked it. 

"It's rather odd," Alicia said to her mother, "but 
during her absence Honora appears to have changed 
completely about their plan of going abroad. You 
know that up to this time she hasn't really wanted to 
go at all: it was Cecily who forced the idea on her; 
but since her return she seems positively anxious to 
get away, and has begun to make preparations for 
departure as if she were in feverish haste to leave 
Kingsford." 

"It is odd," Mrs. Page agreed. "What do you 
think could have occurred to produce such a change? 
Could anything disagreeable have happened to her, 
do you suppose?" 

"I don't see how anything could," Alicia replied. 
"Everybody likes her — that is, so far as people know 
her, — and she has really very little to do with any 
one except Miss Rainesford and Bernard Chisholm." 

"And you don't think that Bernard might possibly 
have— er?" 

[238] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Bernard!" Alicia's tone expressed scorn in a 
high key. "Why, he has from the first been perfectly 
chivalrous to her ! ' ' 

"Oh, I don't doubt that!" Mrs. Page explained 
hastily. "Bernard couldn't be anything else to any 
one. But if he fell in love with her, and she knew it 
and didn't want to marry him, it might account for 
her desire to go away, mightn't it?" 

"Mother!" Alicia's tone was now fairly stern. 
"What an imagination you have! How could you 
think such a thing of Bernard?" 

"I'm sure there's nothing dreadful in it," Mrs. 
Page deprecated. "There's no reason why he shouldn't 
fall in love with her: she is not so pretty as Cecily, 
but to my mind much more attractive. And if they 
married, it would settle about the fortune very nicely." 

"Bernard would never dream of asking Honora to 
marry him while she has his uncle's fortune," Alicia 
declared almost fiercely. "I know him well enough to 
be certain of that." 

"Well, I don't see why the fortune should be an 
obstacle, if they cared for each other," Mrs. Page 
stated calmly. "But, then, I don't pretend to under- 
stand Bernard, who has already acted in so peculiar 
a manner; and Honora must be almost as peculiar 
as he is. At least she is very reserved, and I always 
distrust reserved people." 

"They are inclined to be secretive," Alicia admitted; 
"and Honora is very secretive at present about what 
has changed her so much with regard to going abroad. 
I've tried to find out what it is, but she says only that 
there is no duty to detain her here, and that she wants 
to gratify Cecily." 

[239] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

'That's the whole explanation, I fancy," Mrs. 

Page observed, with an air of dismissing the subject. 

'There's probably no mystery about it. She simply 

wants to gratify Cecily, who cares for nothing under 

heaven but gratifying herself." 

Meanwhile Mr. Maxwell also commented upon a 
change in Honora which had struck him. 

"Miss Trezevant has been long in rousing to a 
realization of her inheritance, but it has apparently 
come to her at last," he remarked to Bernard, when 
the latter dropped into his office on business one day 
soon after Honora's return. "Her attitude was for a 
time quite extraordinary: she hardly seemed to take 
hold of things with any sense of possession. It was 
as if she had difficulty in believing that the property 
really belonged to her. You may have noticed this?" 

Bernard replied that he had noticed it. 

"But I find a decided change in her now," the 
lawyer went on. "She appears to have wakened to 
a sense of ownership and responsibility, and she has 
a really remarkable business head — for a woman. I 
think I've mentioned that before; but I have been 
particularly impressed with it in my late interviews 
with her. I suppose you know that she is preparing 
for an indefinite stay abroad. And while all the 
arrangements she proposes to make about the business 
of the estate are very good, I can see no reason for her 
exiling herself in such a manner; can you?" 

"Oh, yes!" Bernard answered. "I see very clearly 
that her sister desires it." 

"But why should she feel bound to leave all her 
interests here because that very pretty and very selfish 
girl wants to go to Europe to live? For I understand 

[ 240] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

that's the idea, — they are to live abroad, not merely 
to travel there." 

"So I have understood also." 

"Well, it's extremely foolish of Miss Trezevant; 
and I think you ought to tell her so, and try to influ- 
ence her to a more sensible decision. She has a great 
respect for your opinion." 

"I'm afraid that respect would hardly be strong 
enough to influence her against Cecily's desires," 
Bernard said, smiling. "At all events, I don't feel 
inclined to subject it to the strain of trial. And nobody 
can really judge what is best and wisest for another, 
you know, — although we are all prone to think that 
we can." 

Mr. Maxwell snorted. 

"I haven't the slightest doubt of my ability to 
decide what is best and wisest in this case," he said. 
"And I'm sorry that you are not willing to make an 
effort to prevent such an egregious act of folly." 

Bernard's dark eyes were very bright as he looked 
at the speaker. 

"Only a moment ago," he said, "you spoke of Miss 
Trezevant's having a remarkable head for business. 
Now, I think it is remarkable for other things beside 
business; and I don't believe that she would decide 
as she has decided in this matter without a strong 
reason for that decision. This being so, I couldn't be 
presumptuous enough to call it 'an egregious act of 
folly' without knowing more about the motives which 
have influenced her." 

"I thought you said just now that her motive was 
simply to please her sister." 

"But we don't know what that may include. She 

[241 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

may think it better for Cecily to have her own way— 
and perhaps better for others, too. And if she did 
think so, her own wishes wouldn't weigh a feather in 
the balance, I can assure you." 

"I can see that very plainly; but I regard it as 
only another proof that too much altruism is as bad 
as too much selfishness." 

Bernard's smile flashed out again. 

"Hardly 'as bad,'" he corrected; "but, I grant 
you, often more unwise, according to the wisdom of 
the world." 

"The wisdom of the world is a very good standard 
by which to try things," Mr. Maxwell observed dryly; 
"although I'm aware that you don't think so." 

"No, I don't think so," Bernard answered quietly; 
and added to himself, "Thank God!" 

Nevertheless, although he had defended Honora 
against the strictures of the man of the world, he was 
himself surprised and vaguely disturbed by that change 
in her which others had noted, but which had hardly 
been so evident to any one as to him. For ever since 
her return he had been conscious of being, as it were, 
held at arm's length by her: he had a feeling that she 
was on guard against him — or was it against herself? — 
and that when they were together she kept the con- 
versation carefully on the surface, and evaded any- 
thing likely to lead to a discussion of those deeper 
issues of life concerning which she had up to this 
time been so eagerly inquisitive. He was particularly 
struck with this when he spoke of Belmont; and it 
did not occur to him until afterward that she had not 
spoken of her visit there at all. 

"I was delighted to hear from Miss Helen that 

[242 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

you were at the Abbey for Corpus Christi," he said. 
"I'm sure you must have enjoyed the celebration 
immensely." 

"Oh, immensely!" she assented quickly, yet (he 
felt instinctively) with some constraint. ' The place is 
very interesting, and the services were most beautiful, — - 
wonderfully beautiful indeed. I had no idea of seeing 
anything so striking, and — er — extraordinary. I 
wouldn't have missed it on any account, and I was 
very glad Miss Rainesford suggested our stopping 
there on that day." 

"You gave her so much pleasure by stopping that 
it was only fair you should have found some pleasure, 
too," he said. "In all the liturgy of the Church there 
is nothing more beautiful than the ceremonies of 
Corpus Christi." 

"I can well imagine that. They are so marvellously 
picturesque and poetical, are they not?" 

"And so much else besides," he said. "I think 
you must have felt their deep, spiritual significance 
and impressiveness." 

"I — yes, I felt that in some degree," she answered 
hesitatingly; "and Miss Rainesford kindly explained 
the meaning of it all. Otherwise of course I should 
not have understood. It would have been only a 
wonderful pageant to me, — something which, in its 
irresistible appeal to the emotions, I could never have 
imagined if I had not seen it." 

She paused, and her eyes grew retrospective in their 
gaze, as if she saw again the procession, with its rich 
colors and flashing gold, its lights, flowers, incense, 
and music, and the mysterious Presence borne under 
the canopy, as it wound in the sunlight down the 

[ 243 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

gray stone steps that led into the leafy greenness of 
the dell below, and the austere beauty of the pine- 
clad uplands beyond. "It was a picture to remember 
for a lifetime," she said, catching her breath. "I never 
expect to see anything half so impressive again." 

"You can see just such a procession on any feast 
of Corpus Christi in any Catholic country," he told 
her. "The ceremonies may differ slightly in detail, 
but they are essentially the same everywhere." 

"I shall never see them again," she said, with a 
decision which startled him. Then, observing the 
surprise on his face, she went on hastily, "I would 
not like to spoil a perfect impression, and no other 
Corpus Christi could ever be to me what the one at 
Belmont was. You see, it wasn't only the novelty 
of the ceremony, but it was also the fact of its being 
there, which made it so — arresting. The whole place 
was so wonderful in its atmosphere, its suggestion of 
ideals that one thinks of as belonging to another age 
and to distant countries. It made one realize that 
they are, perhaps, for all ages and all countries. And 
when the procession went out into the beautiful, silent 
woods — not set and ordered grounds, but real woods, 
with pine needles covering the ground — as if to take 
possession of the land in the name of the Lord, there 
was such a note of conquering triumph in it that it 
fairly clutched the heart." 

Involuntarily her hand went to her heart as she 
spoke, and there was a light in her eyes which made 
Bernard's heart for a moment leap up, though whether 
in hope or fear he did not know. But the next instant 
her eyes fell, as she seemed to grasp some steadying 
recollection that had nearly escaped her. 

[ 244 1 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"It was, of course, purely an emotional effect," 
she said. "But it was quite wonderful as an experience, 
and I am glad I have known it once. Such an effect 
couldn't be renewed in another place, you know — 
one couldn't get the same note of striking contrast 
anywhere else, — and therefore I shall make no effort 
to see another Corpus Christi celebration." 

"You couldn't readily find another Belmont Abbey, 
for it is in many respects quite unique," Bernard agreed. 
"And that effect of contrast — of difference from the 
world around it — of which you've spoken, would 
necessarily strike you very much on your first visit. 
I remember well how it struck me the first time I 
was there." 

"And has the impression worn off?" she asked. 
Do you feel the sense of contrast no longer?" 

"On the contrary, I feel it even more, but in a 
different way. I realize even more clearly, — well, many 
things." 

He broke off abruptly, conscious for the first time 
in his intercourse with her of an unsympathetic atmos- 
phere. And she did not now talk of a door closed in 
her face, and urge him to go on. He had indeed a 
distinct impression that she was nervously aware of 
danger behind that door, and that she was relieved 
when, changing the subject, he began to speak of 
something else. 

It was the next morning that, as Miss Rainesford 
came out from Mass, she found Bernard waiting for 
her on the steps of the church; and they walked away 
together in the early sunshine, under the leafy trees, 
where unnumbered birds were filling the golden air 

[245] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

with their melodious notes and eager twittering. 

"Aren't they delicious?" Miss Rainesford exclaimed, 
alluding to the birds. "What an exquisite accom- 
paniment their singing made to the Mass! A glorious 
red bird came, flaunted his plumage in the window 
beside me, and poured out his heart in a jubilate just 
at the Elevation. It was almost a distraction, and 
yet how sweet!" 

Bernard nodded a little absently. 

"I heard him," he said. "He was in fine voice, 
and meant everybody to know it. By the by, you 
haven't told me anything about the music at Belmont 
on Corpus Christi. Did you enjoy it?" 

" Oh, extremely! The Mass was very finely rendered; 
and, to my surprise, Honora not only enjoyed but 
followed it intelligently. I suppose that was because 
of all the Masses you have played for her." 

"Very likely." Again he spoke absently; and 
then, suddenly rousing to animation, "I wish you 
would tell me," he said abruptly, "what occurred at 
Belmont to make an impression upon Honora which 
has changed her very much." 

Miss Rainesford turned and met his eyes. 

"So you've observed it!" she said. "I wondered 
if you would." 

"Of course I've observed it," he answered. "I've 
felt a change in her ever since she returned; but I 
wasn't sure until yesterday of its connection with 
something which happened there. What was it? It's 
not possible that any of the Fathers said anything 
she didn't like?" 

"My dear, haven't you understood that we didn't 
meet any of the Fathers, not even your particular 

[246] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

friend, the organist and choir director? She insisted 
upon leaving the Abbey as soon as the services of the 
church were over; and of course I couldn't refuse to 
go, if for no other reason than that I was her guest, 
and the car was hers." 

"Did you propose remaining?" 

"I asked if she would not like to meet some of the 
Fathers and perhaps the Bishop, but she said ' No ' 
very decidedly, and hurried away, as if in fear of being 
detained. I think I would have remonstrated — for I 
was extremely disappointed on my own account — 
if she hadn't looked so pale and tired, and — er — 
apprehensive." 

"Apprehensive of what, in Heaven's name?" 

Miss Rainesford spread out her hands in an elo- 
quent gesture. 

"Since you ask me," she replied, "I can only say 
that I think she was apprehensive of some influence 
on the part of Heaven itself." 

"You mean—?" 

"I mean that she had been intensely moved and 
affected by the ceremonies. Once, when I looked around 
at her, she was gazing at the Blessed Sacrament with 
such dilated eyes, with such a strange, rapt expression 
altogether, that I almost thought she saw something 
more than the white host in the ostensorium. Well, 
my opinion is that, having been so deeply affected, 
she was afraid to trust herself any farther within the 
atmosphere, and under the influences of the place. 
She didn't want to meet anybody, especially any 
priest. She just simply wanted to run away." 

"And so you ran away?" 

"Exactly. We ran away as fast as her high-power 
car could take us." [ 247 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"But she must have made some explanation to 
you." 

"There you are mistaken. The change you have 
observed in her began at that moment, and she made 
no explanation, — I mean nothing which really explained. 
She spoke of being tired and overdone, 'although it 
had all been so beautiful and interesting,' and apologized 
for taking me away so hurriedly; and I said that it 
didn't matter, since we had accomplished what we 
came for — and that was all. Everything she said was 
purely conventional, and not in the least an expression 
of what she really felt. And from that hour to this 
she has told me no more." 

"Did you try to obtain an explanation from her?" 

"Not at all. I should have been very dull if I 
had not perceived that she had no intention of speaking 
frankly of any impression which had been made upon 
her. In fact, there were only two impressions that 
could have accounted for her conduct." 

"And those were — ?" 

"First, that she had been shocked and perhaps 
revolted by what she had seen — the crude Protestant 
view of the ceremonies as superstition, and all that 
kind of thing. Now I know that was not what she 
felt; for I could neither mistake nor forget the ex- 
pression of her face of which I've already spoken. So 
there remained the other — the possibility that the 
Supernatural had manifested itself in a manner which 
startled and frightened her. This is what I believe to 
have occurred." 

"You think—?" 

"I think that the grace of faith was given to her 
in a very direct and sensible manner, as she knelt 

[248] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

before the Blessed Sacrament; and that when she 
realized this, her overwhelming impulse was that of 
flight. And that impulse continues still." 

Nothing more was said for several minutes: they 
walked silently, like people under the shadow of 
tragedy, through the fresh morning beauty, full of 
golden sunshine, green leaves, and singing birds; and 
it was not until they were within sight of Miss Raines- 
ford's house that Bernard said: 

"I have been afraid of this ever since she told me 
of the influence she once felt in a church in New York. 
And, being afraid of it, I was sorry when I heard that 
you had gone to Belmont." 

"It wasn't my fault," Miss Rainesford said hastily. 
"She spoke of it herself: she said that she particularly 
wanted to go there, and it was quite clear that her 
interest had been roused by what you told her of the 
place." 

"Yes: that was my fault," he confessed contritely. 
"It's astonishing what a besetting snare egotism is. 
And yet the subject came about naturally enough; 
for I was talking of the fine music to be heard there, 
and the music led to other things. But even if she 
wanted to go, why should you have taken her on such 
an occasion as the feast of Corpus Christi?" 

" Rather, why shouldn't I? It was a perfect occasion 
for her to hear something of the music you had praised, 
to see beautiful and picturesque ceremonies impressively 
carried out, and to enjoy an altogether unique 
experience. I was sure she would enjoy it — from an 
artistic standpoint, you know. She is so sensitively 
alive to all beautiful things." 

"And, unhappily, just as sensitively alive to spir- 

[249] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

itual things, which is where the danger came in." 

"I didn't realize the danger; or, if I did, to be 
quite frank, I thought she ought to have her chance — 
the chance to make il gran rifiuto. One has no right 
to attempt to be wiser than God, and shield people 
from the struggle that will try them." 

"That's the heroic doctrine you have preached 
from the first," Bernard said, as they paused at her 
gate; "and I see that you have not hesitated to 
practise as well as preach it. But you have forgotten 
that there is one overwhelming reason why Honora 
will never make the Great Refusal." 

"I suppose you mean — ?" 

He answered in three words, as he turned away: 

"I mean— Cecily." 



[250 j 



CHAPTER XIX. 

ON the same morning, and at the same time 
that Miss Rainesford and Bernard Chisholm 
were talking of Honora as they walked back 
from Mass, the girl herself was standing at the window 
of her bedroom, looking out over the green tops of 
trees toward the town, with a deep longing in her 
heart. What this longing was for, she did not know 
exactly, or she refused to acknowledge; but she could 
not doubt that, if she yielded to her inclination, she 
would leave the house, follow the leafy road which led 
from the hill downward to the river glancing in the 
sunlight, and the streets beyond; that she would hurry 
along these streets with other early pedestrians, and 
end — where ? 

It was the final question which held her motionless; 
for well she knew where she would end, if she once 
permitted herself to set out along the way her fancy 
persistently followed. She was not quite sure that she 
knew precisely where the Catholic church was — it had 
been pointed out to her only once, as she drove past, 
and she had thought it a very ordinary and rather ugly 
edifice, — but she had not a doubt that her feet would 
take her to it as unerringly as her heart had gone 
already. 

For that was where the trouble lay, — in the extraor- 
dinary action of her heart, which seemed to be drawn 

[251] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

out of her breast by an attraction too strong to be 
resisted. She told herself that it was like hypnotism, 
to which she had compared it on another occasion; 
but it was in reality more like the violent, overmastering 
passion which is called falling in love. There is nothing 
in human experience more familiar to knowledge and 
observation, nothing which has been more exhaustively 
described by the poets of all ages, than this phenomenon, 
in which eve^thing is for the time being subordinated 
to, and overwhelmed by, the attraction which one 
soul exercises over another; but the Catholic knows 
that, taken at its point of highest intensity, it is but 
a faint shadow and type of that supreme passion of 
the love of God for which the soul of man was created. 
The Catholic knows this; but it is, like many other 
truths of faith, believed rather than apprehended by 
actual experience; for, except in the case of those 
who are called to a religious vocation, the Divine 
Dover does not often make a sensible and imperious 
demand upon the hearts that do not of their own 
accord turn toward Him. But sometimes He conde- 
scends to make this demand; and when He does, it 
can not be mistaken. For it should never be forgotten 
that Christ our Lord is no ethical abstraction, but a 
living Personality, the most compelling and fascinating 
of which history holds a record; and that His influence 
is no less irresistible when He manifests it to-day than 
it was when Saul fell, stricken by His voice, on the 
road to Damascus. 

Now, there can be no doubt that in a certain degree 
He had manifested this attraction to the girl who, 
weary and heavy-laden, had sought His Presence for 
rest and refreshment, in New York. But it was much 

[252] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

more strongly manifested on the day when she walked 
in His triumphal procession at Belmont, and knelt on 
her native soil for His benediction. Then indeed "heart 
had spoken to heart"; then grace had touched her 
like a two-edged sword, and she had forgotten every- 
thing else in the marvel revealed to her. It was not 
strange that, as Helen Rainesford had perceived, she 
gazed like one in a trance at the Sacred Host enthroned 
amid Its lights; for, while she saw nothing beyond the 
white host in the lunette surrounded by golden rays, 
she felt much that was indescribable : she was conscious 
of an overpowering influence which drew her spirit 
like a magnet; and not only did faith in the wonder 
before her become entirely possible — nay, rather im- 
possible to withhold, — but her soul was, as it were, 
inundated by a tide of feeling which approached to 
ecstasy, and she seemed to be borne upward by mighty 
wings into a realm where neither doubt nor fear could 
enter. 

But when the moment of reaction came, she told 
herself, and tried valiantly to believe, that all this 
had been but the effect of imagination, of emotion 
stimulated by every means of stimulation which could 
be devised by consummate art, and by the "suggestion" 
of the great. wave of faith beating around her. And she 
had not only told herself this, but she had fled in absolute 
fear from the place where the Supernatural had touched 
her soul in such terrifying fashion. She had learned 
a lesson of her own susceptibility to spiritual influences, 
which she resolved should be a warning to her; and 
she registered a vow never again to expose herself to 
anything of the kind. 

And as long as she had been travelling, seeing new 

[253} 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

sights and absorbing new impressions, she had been 
able to preserve this attitude of mind, — to put away 
the thought of what she had felt at Belmont, and 
to feel quite sure that it had revealed to her only an 
unsuspected emotional weakness in her own nature, 
against which she must be on guard. And on guard 
she remained, to a degree which was, (as we have 
seen) very evident to Miss Rainesford, and, by dint 
of carefully avoiding any discussion of dangerous 
subjects — that is, of religious beliefs and religious 
ceremonies, — she managed to maintain a fair degree 
of peace of mind until she returned home. 

Then no sooner was she again in her own house 
than what she felt to be an overwhelming temptation 
assailed her. A desire which was like to, and yet greater 
than, desire for the society of a beloved human being 
came over her with almost irresistible force to seek 
again the Presence in which her soul had once found 
such rest, and later so mysterious a sense of happiness, 
It was, though she was far indeed from being aware 
of it, in some degree at least the same attraction which 
many of God's chosen servants feel, and which draws 
them to the altar where He abides, as the moon draws 
the tides of the sea. 

To Honora, however, knowing little and (she would 
have said) believing less of this miracle of love, her 
own feelings were at once a mystery and a torment. 
Why, she demanded of herself vainly, should she have 
this constant longing to go to the Catholic church? 
It was not as if she had ever been a Catholic, or ever, 
with one exception, frequented Catholic churches. 
She had, indeed, gone to Belmont Abbey, but it was 
merely as a sight-seer and tourist; she had accompanied 

[254] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

the procession of Corpus Christi, but it was only to 
witness something extraordinarily picturesque; she had 
knelt when the Blessed Sacrament was raised in bene- 
diction, but that was because it would have been the 
extreme of bad manners to remain standing when 
everyone around her was kneeling. Of course she had 
been conscious of a curious emotion as she knelt; and 
while she gazed, wide-eyed, there had flashed into her 
memory some dimly remembered words: "And I, 
being lifted up, will draw all things to Myself." Was 
that why her heart felt so strangely drawn, and why 
it now longed so restlessly to find itself again in that 
Presence where yearning was satisfied, and desire sank 
down with folded wings? 

Well, it was clearly impossible that such a longing 
should be gratified. It would be folly, and worse than 
folly, for her to think of visiting the Catholic church 
in Kingsford. Indeed, she was quite firmly resolved 
that never, in any place or country, would she again 
enter a church of that faith. A sense of honor which 
was almost stern told her that this was obligatory 
upon her as long as she enjoyed the fortune which 
had been given to her on the condition that she had 
nothing to do with Catholicity. To continue to enjoy 
this fortune and at the same time to expose herself to 
an attraction which she found almost irresistible would 
be to violate the trust imposed, and take a base 
advantage of the dead. 

And as for that other trust committed to her — the 
charge to bring Bernard back from the alien faith to 
which he had wandered, — she wondered now that she 
had ever been foolish enough to think for one moment 
that such a thing was possible, and knew her effort 

[255] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to fulfil the charge to have been as futile as it was 
weak, and as absurd as it was presumptuous. For 
what had she, or any one else, to offer Bernard Chisholm 
in place of this religion, which was no mere formula of 
tabulated beliefs, but a living force, seizing the human 
soul by the power of its fascination, demanding the 
heart, and giving strange illumination to the mind? 
She asked the question with a sense of despair, which 
was not altogether for her failure in the task com- 
mitted to her, but which was also inspired by her 
own position. For she realized with unmistakable 
clearness that the choice which had been placed before 
Bernard was now placed before herself, and that she 
could not answer it as Bernard had answered. That 
was impossible for her. If she stood alone in the world, 
it might be possible. She felt instinctively within herself 
the power to rise up, as he had risen, in answer to a 
divine call, and to fling aside a fortune as so much 
dross, even though she knew the dreadfulness of poverty 
as it can be known only by experience. But since she 
did not stand alone, this could never be. 

To condemn Cecily again to the conditions of life 
from which they had wondrously escaped, was not 
to be thought of. Even the mere suggestion of such a 
thing was like a dream of madness; for, apart from 
the narrowness and bitterness of poverty, there were 
the terrible dangers and temptations which would 
await one so beautiful, and so wild with desire for the 
fulness of life. To what degree of recklessness indeed 
might Cecily not be driven if such a blow fell upon 
her? Honora knew this well; and, knowing it, resolved 
that, at whatever cost to herself, the blow should 
never fall. And, since it must never fall, she, on her 

[256] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

part, must close her mind and steel her heart against 
the Presence which called her so ceaselessly, from a 
church she had never entered, but which she visualized 
as clearly in its essential details of the altar, the 
tabernacle, and the ever-burning lamp, as if her bodily 
eyes had rested on these things. 

It was later on the same day that a little incident 
occurred which, in the present state of Honora's mind, 
assumed a significance that it would not have had at 
another time. She was in the library looking for a 
book with which to divert her attention from such 
thoughts as those which have been partially recorded, 
and feeling unaccountably averse to any of the hand- 
somely bound volumes — mostly works of standard 
authors — on the shelves before her, when, somewhat 
to her surprise, Mrs. Kemp entered the room, a book 
in her hand. They were very good friends by this 
time, these two, and Honora turned around with a 
smile. 

"Why, Mrs. Kemp," she said, "did you have an 
instinct that I was looking for something to read and 
have you brought me something interesting?" 

"I don't know whether or not it's interesting," 
Mrs. Kemp replied; "but I've brought this book to 
you, because it's one of Mr. Bernard's that he couldn't 
find when he took all his other books away. He was 
mightily worried about it, and asked me if it ever 
turned up to take care of it and let him have it." 

"And it has turned up! That's good," Honora 
said. "Where did you find it?" 

"In a very unlikely place, as one mostly does 
find misplaced things," Mrs. Kemp answered. "I was 
clearing out the closet in his room — I mean the room 

[257] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

that used to be his,— and at the back of a shelf, behind 
a lot of old things, I found it. So I thought I'd just 
bring it to you, and ask you to give it to him the next 
time he comes. I'm thinking it's one of his Catholic 
books" (she held it out with an air which would have 
suited the delivery of a bomb), "and it has surely got 
a strange title." 

Honora received the slender volume, and, looking 
at it, agreed that it had indeed a strange title, although 
one not unknown to her. For what she found printed 
on the back was "The Hound of Heaven," and she 
remembered having heard or seen a great deal about 
this remarkable poem a few years before. But she 
had never read it, and she felt that this was an excellent 
opportunity to do so. She opened the book, glanced 
into it, and then looked up at Mrs. Kemp. 

"I'm glad you've brought this to me," she said; 
"for I can read it before giving it to Bernard. And it 
arrives just when I'm in need of something to interest 
me. I'll take it into the garden — gardens and poems 
go well together — and if he should come presently, as 
I rather think he may about a matter of business, 
you can have him sent out there to me." 

Mrs. Kemp nodded assent, while she looked at the 
girl with a not unkindly keenness in her sharp black 
eyes. 

"It seems a pity that you should be going away 
just when you've begun to take hold of the business 
so well, and when you and Mr. Bernard have got to 
be such friends," she remarked. "I can't see why 
you can't be satisfied to stay here instead of rampagin' 
off to Europe." 

Honora sighed and smiled at the same moment. 

[258] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I should be perfectly satisfied to stay," she said 
frankfy. "But, you see, it is Cecily who wants to go, 
and I can't be selfish enough to refuse to go with her." 

Mrs. Kemp sniffed. 

"The selfishness is on her side, in my opinion," she 
said. "I've heard how she's kept at you to go, without 
caring whether you wanted to go or not; and, if you'll 
excuse my saying so, I think you yield to her a great 
deal too much." 

"Perhaps I do," Honora acknowledged. "But, you 
see, I've longed for nothing so much as to be able to 
give her what she wanted, when there seemed no hope 
that I ever would have that power; and, now that it 
has come to me, I can't refuse to gratify her wishes." 

"There's reason in all things, or there ought to be," 
Mrs. Kemp stated; "and I don't hold with gratifying 
people's wishes unless it's for their good." 

Honora laughed a little. 

"I've heard that before from some one else," she 
said; "and no doubt it is perfectly true. But we can't 
always tell what is for another's good; and it is safe 
to do what we are able, to make life happy for those 
we love." 

"I'd like," observed Mrs. Kemp, "to see some effort 
on the part of others to make life happy for you." 

"But no effort is needed," Honora assured her. 
"I am one of the most fortunate people in the world — 
you know that, — and I should be one of the most 
ungrateful if I were not also happy." 

The shrewdness as well as the kindness deepened 
in the eyes regarding her. 

"People can't be happy out of gratitude," said 
Mrs. Kemp; "and, although you are fortunate enough, 

[259] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

thanks to the foolishness of one man and the obstinacy 
of another, it's easy to see that there's something 
lacking to make you happy, and I don't believe you'll 
find it by going to Europe, either." 

She left the room rather abruptly after this; and 
as Honora went her way, carrying "The Hound of 
Heaven" with her into the garden, she wondered what 
there was about her which betrayed to the eyes of 
others the "something lacking" of which she was 
herself so intensely conscious. 

Still pondering upon this, she sat down in the 
midst of the bewildering world of greenness and bloom, 
filled with the fragrance of flowers and songs of birds, 
and opened the book which had been by a strange 
accident placed in her hands. At first her thoughts 
were so persistently turned inward, so fixed upon her 
own struggle, that she failed to grasp the meaning of 
the somewhat difficult rhythm. Then she suddenly 
found her attention caught, grasped, held breathlessly, 
as she saw all that she had been thinking and feeling 
spread before her on the printed page. Was ever before 
the pursuit of the soul by the divine Hunter expressed 
in such poignant and majestic words? 

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; 

I fled Him, down the arches of the years; 
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways 

Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears 
I hid from Him, and under running laughter. 
Up vistaed hopes I sped; 
And shot, precipitated 
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, 
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after. 
But with unhurrying chase, 
And unperturbed pace, 

[ 260 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, 

They beat — and a Voice beat 

More instant than the Feet — 
"All things betray thee, who betrayest Me." 

It was some time after this that Bernard Chisholm, 
coming by direction to seek her, found her on a seat 
which commanded a wide, distant view, at which 
she was gazing with such absent mind that she did 
not hear his approach. The book she had been reading 
lay open in her lap; and its pages, as well as her hair 
and dress, were powdered with the white starry flowers 
that had dropped from a jasmine vine clambering 
overhead, the delicate, penetrating fragrance of which 
was all about her. She was pale as one of the Madonna 
lilies blooming in stately beauty near by, and her whole 
attitude and expression breathed a wistfulness that 
struck him as intensely pathetic. He paused without 
speaking for an instant, and then very gently — 

"I hope I don't disturb you," he said. 

She started slightly, as she turned her eyes upon 
him with a welcoming smile. 

"Oh, no," she said, "you don't disturb me in the 
least! I was expecting you, and would have seen you 
coming only that just then I had wandered rather 
far away. Excuse my inattention, and sit down." 
(She moved to make room for him on the seat beside 
her.) "I've several things I want to ask you." 

"I hope they are things I can answer," he said, 
smiling in turn as he sat down. 

'You can answer them if you care to do so," she 
replied quietly. "But, in the first place, let me tell 
you that I have a book of yours here which Mrs. 
Kemp found and gave me, to be returned to you, a 

[261 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

little while ago. I brought it out with me to read, and — 
and it has impressed me more than anything I ever 
read before in all my life. Perhaps you won't be sur- 
prised at this when you see what it is." 

She held the volume to him; and he was indeed 
not surprised, but very much startled, when he saw 
what it was. 

"My long-lost copy of 'The Hound of Heaven'!" 
he exclaimed. 'Where on earth did it come from? 
And how strange that it should have fallen into your 
hands!" 

"I am sure you have no idea how strange the last 
is," she said. "I could almost think it had been planned 
by some outside agency, it has seemed to bring such 
a direct message to me. It — it is wonderful, is it not?" 

"The poem, do you mean, or the message?" 

"Both. The beauty of the poem has fascinated 
me, but the message is — overwhelming. One feels 
that breathless chase; one hears the sound of those 
pursuing Feet as if— as if one were oneself pursued 
by them." She paused, and looked away again into 
the purple distance, with the wide-eyed gaze of one 
who listens for a pursuit which can not be escaped. 
Then she turned abruptly toward him. "Was it so 
with you?" she queried. "That is the question I wanted 
to ask you. Oh, you have evaded answering many 
questions of mine; but you won't evade or refuse to 
answer this, will you? For I must know whether or 
not certain things are merely the influence of my 
imagination — I have rather a strong imagination, — or 
whether it is common with others to be conscious of — 
of a sense of being pursued. I would not use that 
expression if I could avoid it, but there is no other 

[262] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

which expresses the feeling to which I allude." 

He nodded comprehendingly. 

"There is no other," he agreed. "It is a thing 
not often spoken of or described except in mystical 
religious literature, but I fancy there is no experience 
more common to human nature. Everyone, of any 
spiritual perception at all, must have felt at some 
time and in some degree that pursuit of the soul by 
God, which supreme genius has put into marvellous 
words there." (He pointed to the book still in her hand.) 
"It just amounts to this, you know," he went on 
hesitatingly, after a moment: "that God — happily for 
us — will not leave us alone. We may want to be left 
alone, but He follows, pursues, makes us feel that — " 

"'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me,'" she 
murmured, as if to herself. "Do you believe that 
they do?" 

"I must believe it," he answered. "We are told 
that the heart of man, being made for God, can not 
find rest or satisfaction as long as it is endeavoring to 
escape from Him; and it is that effort to escape which 
is described in 'The Hound of Heaven.'" 

"But why" (there was a note of acute pain in her 
voice now), — "why should it amount to a persecution, 
the chase of the Hound of Heaven? If one isn't 
spiritual, and one doesn't want to have anything to 
do with mystical beliefs and practices, why should 
one be attracted against one's will — be drawn — 
pursued — " 

"Ah!" (as her voice had expressed pain, so his 
now expressed keenest sympathy) "one can find no 
answer for that question except in the love of God for 
the soul He is pursuing." 

[263] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

She looked at him, and he saw a passion of revolt 
in her eyes. 

"I shall shock you," she said, "but the truth is 
that I don't want to be loved in that way. I can't 
make heroic sacrifices; there is no good in asking them 
of me; and so I just want to be let alone, to be left 
in peace to my — mediocrity." 

It was so pitiful that he smiled. But there was 
no amusement in the smile. 

"I know," he said gently. "But you are not so 
mediocre as you think: there are heroic possibilities 
in you, and so God does not intend to let you alone. 
He means you to choose between Him and— other 
things. Oh, you are in a hard strait! I know that 
well. And I have been weak enough to hope, and 
almost to pray, that you might be spared the necessity 
of choice. But I see clearly that you are not to be 
spared — " 

"Where you are mistaken," she interrupted, "is 
in thinking that there is any choice open to me. There 
is none. I must, I will, suffer anything rather than 
make another suffer for my possible good. There is 
nothing I am more resolved upon than that." 

"I understand," he said, with the pity in his voice 
deepening; "but if the grace of God pursues you — " 

"It will not pursue me," she declared in a voice 
hard as steel; "for I believe that it has been altogether 
the work of my own imagination. And as for this 
poem" (she closed the book decisively and held it out 
to him), "please take it away with you. Beautiful 
as it is, I am quite sure that it is exaggerated and 
morbid, and I never wish to see it again." 

[264] 



CHAPTER XX. 

I THINK," said Cecily, calmly, "that men are the 
most unreasonable creatures on earth." 
Julian Page frowned slightly, dashed a little color 
on his impressionistic sketch of Lake Toxaway, which 
lay in smiling beauty before him, and remarked a 
trifle bitterly that lack of reason was on the whole 
preferable to lack of heart. 

"I don't agree with you," Cecily replied as calmly 
as before. "I should much prefer to be lacking in 
heart than in reason." 

"Then you ought to be satisfied," Mr. Page ob- 
served; "for there's not the least room to doubt that 
you have much more reason than heart." 

"I should be very sorry if I didn't have," Cecily 
returned. "You don't mean to be flattering, but you 
really are. I've never had the faintest intention of 
allowing any sentimental impulses to rule my life; 
and I've told you so from our first acquaintance." 

"Oh, you have been thoroughly explicit!" he 
admitted. "It isn't your fault that I have yielded to 
my 'sentimental impulses,' and thereby incurred your 
scorn." 

"Not my scorn," she assured him: "only my 
surprise." 

"Why surprise? You must be accustomed to men's 
losing their heads about you." 

[265] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Not at all," she answered coolly. "The men I 
have known up to this time didn't lose their heads in 
the smallest degree. Very far from it. Indeed, it was 
seeing how admirably they kept their heads, in the 
days when I was a penniless girl, however attractive 
and clever, which first showed me how necessary it 
was to keep my own. I might very easily have allowed 
it to be turned. I might have taken the admiration 
and compliments offered me at a value which wasn't 
real, if I had been as foolish as some girls are. I've 
seen several very pitiful tragedies from such mistakes, 
and they taught me a great deal. I resolved that 
I would be as self-contained and wholly self-interested 
as men are, and that I would not allow my heart to 
have any control of my life. It's a resolution I have 
never been tempted to break." 

She looked at him with brilliant eyes, in which 
there was a shade of defiance; and as Julian gazed 
at her he was conscious of receiving a sudden vivid 
light upon her attitude toward life, which he had 
lacked before. Why had he not divined the true 
meaning of this attitude earlier? Why had not his 
own knowledge of the world told him that she had 
probably had some experiences during her impression- 
able youth which had bitten deep? He saw it clearly 
enough now. What she had then learned of men had 
left her with a lasting distrust of their disinterestedness, 
had strengthened her own natural impulse toward 
selfishness, and had made her, as she declared, resolve 
that not love but enlightened self-interest should be 
the dominating impulse of her life. And it was not 
strange that the coming of the fortune which had 
made such a change in her prospects, which opened 

[266] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to her doors that had appeared hopelessly closed, 
should not have altered in the least this controlling 
determination and belief. In the days of her poverty and 
obscurity, she had seen men thoroughly tested in 
their attitude toward herself; and if that attitude was 
different now it could only be because the great factor 
of money had intervened. It was with a sense of 
positive shock that Julian realized this, and drew the 
inevitable conclusion that he was judged with the 
rest. 

"I suppose," he said at length, "that you make 
no exception in your opinion of the self-interestedness 
of men?" 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"Why should I?" she queried. 

He felt the blood mount to his face, and was angry 
with himself for betraying how deeply he was hurt. 

"There is of course no reason why you should," he 
replied, "if you have no faith in the sincerity of any 
protestations made to you." 

She met his eyes again for a moment before 
answering; and, as she gazed, something of the 
defiance melted out of her own eyes, and a rather 
new softness came into them. 

"Why do you make me say rude and unpleasant 
things?" she asked. "It is a very poor return for 
your — er — kind sentiments toward me." 

"Don't talk nonsense!" he said almost roughly. 
"You know perfectly well that there's no kindness 
in my sentiments toward you." 

"Isn't there?" She laughed irresistibly. "Then 
there must be unkindness, and I can hardly believe 
that." 

[267] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"How about your own unkindness?" he inquired. 
"I found no claim upon the fact that I have given 
you, from the hour of our first meeting, a devotion 
quite different from any I've ever given any other 
woman, — that I am passionately in love with you, 
and ready to offer you my whole life and all that I 
have. I found no claim, as I've said, upon these 
things; for you've made it quite clear always that you 
care nothing about them. But I have at least a right 
to demand that my sincerity shall be believed." 

"Oh, dear!" Cecily sighed. "This conversation is 
becoming very disagreeable. If you don't mind, I 
should prefer to talk about something else." 

"I mind very much," he replied decidedly. "I 
must refuse to talk about anything else until you 
have told me in serious earnest whether or not you 
put me in the same class with the men of whom you've 
been speaking, and consider that my devotion means 
no more than their admiration meant." 

Again she looked at him and saw a man she had 
never seen before. His debonair insouciance of manner 
and expression was gone; and all that was deepest 
and strongest in his nature — all the passion which had 
been so lightly and so gaily cloaked — came to the 
surface, and transformed even the familiar face which 
now regarded her with an expression altogether 
unfamiliar. 

"Julian," she said, "if you persist in bullying me 
in this manner, I'll go back to the Inn. I am not 
accustomed to being bullied, and I don't like it." 

'You are not accustomed to anything but having 
your own way," he returned; "but you are not going 
to have it just now. You are going to answer my 

[268] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

question; for I insist upon it, and you have no right 
to refuse. Do you believe in the sincerity of my love 
for you or do you not?" 

Now, bullying is generally unwise, especially in 
the case of a high-spirited and spoiled woman, and 
no one was ordinarily better aware of this than Julian 
Page. But at the present moment he was extremely 
angry; and, being angry, he forgot the wisdom which 
his observation of life had taught him. The result 
was that Cecily also grew angry, which was an unusual 
phenomenon with her. 

"I think you have lost your senses as well as 
your manners," she told him with crisp distinctness. 
"You haven't the faintest right to insist on my answer- 
ing a question which I dislike to answer. For how 
can I possibly decide upon the sincerity of our love? 
No doubt it is sincere enough under existing circum- 
stances; but whether it would have been under those 
other circumstances of which I've spoken — well, that 
neither you nor I can tell." 

"I beg your pardon!" (Julian was growing still 
more angry.) "7 can certainly tell; and I wish with 
all my heart that you were back in those other circum- 
stances, so that I might convince you." 

"You are very kind" (her voice had an edge of 
keenest mockery), "but I can't possibly wish myself 
back in very unpleasant circumstances in order that 
I might be convinced of something which really doesn't 
interest me in the least." 

Until the last words escaped her lips, she did not 
realize how cutting they were. But a glance at Julian's 
face told her. He grew very pale, gave her a look of 
almost incredulous reproach, and, saying stiffly, "In 

[269] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

that case, I'm sorry for having forced the discussion 
of an uninteresting subject upon you," turned again 
to his painting. After that, silence fell like a wall 
between them. 

It was an exquisite hour and scene; for the golden 
spell of late afternoon was upon all things, and the 
view spread before them had the dreamlike beauty 
which is the peculiar note of the Southern Appalachians. 
They were at the extreme end of the lake, which 
stretched away in mirror-like expanse, its crystal 
water reflecting the sapphire sky above and the wooded 
heights rising from its shores, richly green near by, 
and wearing in the distance ethereal robes of blue 
and purple softness. Julian had selected for his sketch 
the wildest and most remote spot on the lovely sheet 
of water, so that there was at present not a single 
object in sight to remind them that they were not 
alone in the world. Now, solitude a deux, as the French 
call it, is very charming as long as the two who share 
it are companioned by perfect sympathy; but when 
this has been broken — when anything so unfortunate 
as a decided rupture of sympathy has occurred — then 
the solitude a deux becomes far more oppressive than 
a solitude of one. 

So Cecily speedily found it. There was nothing she 
so strenuously objected to as a diagreeable atmosphere. 
And it was very disagreeable to be reduced to silence, 
and to watching a scene with the details of which 
she felt herself more than sufficiently familiar, while 
Julian painted away as if possessed by a demon of 
energy, dashing color on his canvas in a manner which 
she felt sure he would later regret. She regarded him 
with exasperation for a time, and then suddenly burst 
into laughter. [ 270 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"This," she announced, "is quite too absurd, — 
that two such examples of modernity as you and I 
should be quarrelling like a pair of old-fashioned 
lovers!" 

He turned toward her with a flash in his eyes. 

"O Cecily," he exclaimed, "don't you see what a 
confession there is in that? 'A pair of old-fashioned 
lovers' ! What else are we, — for there is no new fashion 
in love? O my dear, if you would only believe it, — 
only be satisfied that love, eternally old and eternally 
new, is enough! And if, with love, you would have 
faith in me — " 

"My dear boy," she interrupted not unkindly but 
also patronizingly, "I really have the utmost faith in 
you — in your disinterestedness and your capabilities 
of folly. For the world is right in regarding it as folly 
to hold money as unimportantly as we Southern 
people — I mean we of the old regime — are incurably 
inclined to do. I take back my nasty remarks of a 
minute ago. I haven't a doubt but that if you had 
met me before Mr. Chisholm made Honora rich, you 
would have been as ready to offer me all that you 
have as you are now — " 

"You may indeed believe it!" he said in a tone 
of intense feeling. 

"But I would have refused it as positively then as 
I do now," she assured him. "It would have been a 
pleasant balm to my wounded vanity, but I shouldn't 
have allowed you to ruin your life then; and now — " 

"Yes, now?" 

"Now the virus of worldliness has entered too 
deeply into me, and I could never be satisfied if I 
did not make an effort to grasp all that I have longed 

[271 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

for, and promised myself that I would grasp if ever 
given a chance. Well, the chance has been given me; 
and I can't, Julian, — I can't turn away from it. It would 
be asking too much of me. 'All for love, and the world 
well lost,' could never commend itself to me, — never!" 

He nodded assent gravely. 

"I recognize that," he said. "I've recognized it 
all along. It would be asking too much of you, even 
if you were willing to grant it. You like me well enough; 
but you don't really love me, for the love which shrinks 
from sacrifice is no love at all. I'm a very worldly 
chap myself, but I realize that." 

"I detest the very name of sacrifice," Cecily de- 
clared with biting inciseness. "And yet, Heaven knows, 
I oughtn't to do so, since all that I'm rejoicing in — 
my freedom and my possibilities — I owe to an absurd 
act of sacrifice." 

"Putting gratitude aside, I don't think you should 
characterize Bernard's act in that manner," Julian 
remarked. "It's one of those things that give one — 
er — rather a thrill, you know." 

"Perhaps so. But, all the same, it was absurd." 

He shook his head. 

"Not from his point of view. You see, he realizes, 
so much more clearly than the rest of us, that things 
do not end here." 

"But even if they don't, how can it make so 
much difference what form of belief one professes?" 
She paused, and, taking up a stone, threw it, with 
unusual skill for a woman, out into the water. "I'll 
tell you something which I've hardly put into words, 
even to myself, before," she then said. "I am afraid 
about Honora." 

[ 272 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

He stared. 

"Afraid in what way?" he asked. 

"Afraid of a growing fascination which Bernard 
and Bernard's beliefs seem to be exercising over her," 
Cecily replied. "I don't mean that she is falling in 
love with him — though it's something like that, only 
on a higher plane, as it were, — but that she is danger- 
ously under his influence, and — and — well, there are 
queer possibilities in Honora. If it wasn't for me — 
I'm her balance wheel — I believe she would be capable 
of throwing up the Chisholm fortune herself, to enter 
the Catholic Church." 

"Good Lord!" (Unnecessary to state that this 
ejaculation was not intended religiously on Mr. Page's 
part.) "I've never dreamed of such a thing. And 
I'm sure Bernard hasn't either." 

"I'm not so sure of that," Cecily said darkly. 
"Bernard is too reticent for my taste. And what else 
is he doing but drawing her toward the Catholic Church 
when he spends hours in that music-room of his — I 
mean hers — playing Masses for her?" 

"My dear girl, that is only for the sake of the 
music. Bernard would never think of trying to prose- 
lytize Honora, especially since he knows all that is at 
stake for her." 

Cecily threw another stone with great precision 
into the lake before she remarked, in the same cryptic 
manner as before: 

"I'm not at all sure of that, either. But, however 
it may be, I'm glad we are going away soon; and it 
is one reason why I've been so insistent in urging our 
departure. I want to get her away from his influence, 
whether it is consciously or unconsciously exerted." 

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THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"I'm certain that you are mistaken," Julian 
asserted energetical^. "I've known Bernard all my 
life, and he is the very soul of honor." 

"But he wouldn't regard anything of this kind 
as dishonorable," Cecily said, with the extraordinary 
confidence in her ability to read the inner motives of 
Catholics which Protestants often exhibit. "They are 
all more or less Jesuitical, you know." 

"I really don't know; and I'm not certain that I 
even know what being 'Jesuitical' means." 

"It means suiting the ways to the end, — just what 
Bernard has been doing with the music." 

"But why on earth should he want to turn Honora 
into a Catholic? It wouldn't do him any good for her 
to lose her fortune." 

Again Cecily shrugged her shoulders. 

"I can't tell how it would do him good," she 
answered. "But I have an instinct of danger in her 
association with him, and my instincts are never 
wrong. I've a remarkable faculty of being right." 

Julian laughed, not altogether mirthfully. 
'You've a remarkable belief in yourself," he ob- 
served. "I wish to Heaven you weren't quite so sure 
of your own wisdom in some ways." 

"One can't accomplish things without believing 
in oneself," she told him serenely. "Now I mean to 
accomplish everything that I have planned." 

"Hadn't you better touch wood, — or, following a 
classic example, throw one of your rings into the lake?" 

She glanced at the sparkling jewels on her hands, 
and laughed quite mirthfully. 

"Excuse me!" she said. "I haven't a grain of 
superstition about me, and I don't intend to sacrifice 

[274] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

one of the rings which I've had so short a time, and 
which I like so much, to propitiate fate. It doesn't 
require any propitiation, I'm sure. Everything is 
going to be carried out exactly as I desire. Meanwhile" 
(she looked at her bracelet watch) "you must take me 
back to the Inn, if you please ; for I have an engagement 
at six o'clock to go motoring with Mr. Dorrance. He 
wants to show me his new car, and incidentally some 
fine views also." 

Julian frowned in evident disapproval, as he rose 
and began to unfasten the small boat waiting for 
them. 

"I wish you weren't going with Dorrance," he 
said. "Oh, you needn't smile! It's not because I'm 
jealous of him, though he's so desperately in love 
with you; or because I envy him the money he doesn't 
know how to spend, or the car he doesn't know how 
to drive. It's because I consider it dangerous for you 
to go out with him. He is absolutely reckless when 
he once gets into that car, and turns on speed. He has 
had several bad accidents in the low country, where 
roads are like boulevards compared with these here, 
and where there are no precipices to fall over. You 
shouldn't trust yourself with him. Ask Selwyn, and 
he'll tell you the same thing." 

"Mr. Selwyn has alread)^ volunteered much the 
same advice," she acknowledged; "but I told him I 
really couldn't break my engagement with Mr. 
Dorrance on the ground that I'm afraid to go in his 
car, considering that I am not in the least afraid. 
I've never been afraid of anything in my life, — physically 
afraid, I mean." 

"It's a pity to be endowed with so many virtues," 

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THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Julian commented. "Perfect courage and perfect 
wisdom constitute really too much of an equipment 
for one individual." 

"You are developing quite too much of a gift of 
sarcasm," Cecily returned. "I'll see that Mr. Dorrance 
doesn't exercise his speed mania to any dangerous 
degree; for I have no desire to be either killed or 
injured. He'll do what I tell him, — I can assure you 
of that." 

"He's your abject slave at present," Julian ad- 
mitted. "But the trouble is that you won't yourself 
recognize a dangerous degree of speed until it may 
be too late. I beg — I earnestly beg you not to go. 
Let us stay where we are. You can tell him later that 
you forgot the engagement." 

'Truth does not appear to be one of your virtues." 

"I'd cheerfully tell a dozen lies to keep you out 
of Jack Dorrance's car," he informed her. "It is not 
safe for you to go with him. You might believe Selwyn 
on that point, if you won't believe me; for Selwyn 
is inclined to reckless driving himself, and when he 
says that another man takes too many chances he 
knows what he is talking about." 

"I think Mr. Selwyn was talking on your behalf," 
Cecily said, smilingly. "Oh, I wasn't deceived the least 
little bit ! I knew you had asked him to warn me, and I'm 
sorry I can't heed the warning. But it would be quite 
too absurd to tell poor Mr. Dorrance that I'm afraid 
to go motoring with him, since I'm not afraid at all. 
So please get me back to the Inn as quickly as possible." 



[276] 



CHAPTER XXI. 

IT was on the same afternoon as that on which 
Cecily and Julian were seated together on the 
shores of Lake Toxaway — but very much later, 
for the sun was sinking in the west — that Honora, 
returning from an entertainment (one of the "hen 
parties" despised by Cecily) which she had attended 
with Alicia Page, sent the latter home in the limousine, 
and herself, crossing the terrace, went into the house 
alone. 

It seemed to her that she had never been more 
aware of the charm of the spacious dwelling than as 
it lay, open and flower- scented, around her when she 
entered the hall and paused for a moment, as if un- 
decided where to go. The complete stillness of the large, 
shaded rooms on each side, and the light and color 
of sunset flowing into the stately hall, carried a sense 
of quiet and repose which was at once soothing and 
delightful after the scene she had just left — the chatter 
of many voices, all talking at once, the clatter of tea- 
spoons against glass and china, and the brightly lighted 
rooms full of animated figures. It had all been pleasant 
enough, but rather fatiguing to one unaccustomed to 
social diversions; and this cool, dim, silent house was 
the most refreshing contrast imaginable. A soft sigh 
was the expression of her intense pleasure in the con- 

[277] 



THE vSECRET BEQUEST 

sciousness that such an ideal home of peace was her 
own; and then, turning, by a sudden impulse she 
passed into the music-room. 

Here, too, the sunset glow entered freely from the 
western windows, and flooded the beautiful room, 
which had a chapel-like air from the tall, gilded pipes 
of the organ at its farther end. Honora looked at the 
magnificent instrument a little wistfully. It had never 
been opened since the day, which seemed so long ago, 
when Bernard had closed it down, after the knowledge 
of what his uncle's letter contained had come to him 
by intuitive deduction; but now she felt that she 
would give much if she could see Bernard enter, open 
it again, sit down and flood the room with melody, 
as it was already flooded with light. Well, there was 
no good in wishing for what was at present beyond 
all possibility of realization. But the longing grew and 
seized upon her like a passion; though whether it 
was for Bernard himself — for the personality which 
had come to mean so much to her, — for the music 
on which the soul mounted upward as if on wings, or 
for That which lay, august and mysterious, behind the 
attraction of both, she could not tell. 

But she felt suddenly that music in some form 
she must have; and, opening the grand piano, which 
in its gleaming mahogany case stood at one side of 
the room, she sat down and began to play some of 
the half-forgotten music of her early youth. Fragments 
of Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words" came to 
her fingers, for her musical education had stopped 
before she knew much of the work of modern com- 
posers; and the simple, tender, spring-like strains as 
they floated out on the stillness — she had a really 

[278] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

charming touch — seemed to blend perfectly with the 
fragrance of flowers, the sunset, and the vesper notes 
of birds. She was modulating softly the chords of 
"Consolation" when suddenly the thought of Cecily 
came to her strongly, — so strongly that with an in- 
voluntary movement she turned her head, almost 
expecting to see the girl enter the room, until she 
remembered how far away she was. 

It was, of course, the subtle association of the 
music which produced this extraordinary impression of 
her personality, and even of her presence, Honora 
told herself as she continued to play. But while she 
played her attention wandered more and more from 
the music, and more and more she was conscious of 
something which can be described only as the touch 
of Cecily's spirit upon her own, — as if from a remote 
distance a message were being conveyed to her which 
she was unable to grasp. She felt almost impelled to 
turn to the shadowy presence which seemed to stand 
beside her and say, "What is it? What do you want?" 
She changed to another theme, less filled with recollec- 
tions of the past; but still the strange sensation of 
Cecily's presence persisted; and then, putting out her 
hand, she took up a music-book from the stand beside 
her. It was one of Bernard's, a collection of liturgical 
anthems and hymns; and as she turned the pages 
her eye fell on the Vesper hymn, Lucis Creator Optime, 
which, with the hymn for Compline, the beautiful 
Te lucis ante terminum, he had several times sung for 
her at twilight, and which she had liked particularly. 
Now she began to try it herself, and for the first time 
read the translation of the words into English. Very 
lovety she found them; and when she reached the 

[279] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

appeal which the close of each swiftly passing day 
seems to render more poignantly moving — 

Thick flows the flood of darkness down; 

Oh, hear us as we weep and pray! 
Keep Thou our souls from schemes of crime, 

Nor guilt remorseful let us know; 
Nor, thinking but on things of time, 

Into eternal darkness go, — 

she paused with a sense of fear which startled herself. 
For how simply, how concisely, yet with what force, 
these lines conveyed a terrible idea, a terrible possi- 
bility! And suddenly the idea connected itself with 
Cecily, — Cecily, whose presence seemed so strongly 
with her! Why it should do so, she did not know. 
Why at this moment for the first time she should 
realize overwhelmingly that Cecily did not give, had 
never given, one serious thought to anything but 
"things of time," she was unable to tell. But the 
fact was there, rousing a sense of positive terror at the 
possibility of an anguish beyond the power of words 
to express. 

For, as her hands dropped from the keys of the 
piano and she sat motionless, while the fragrant summer 
twilight deepened around her, everything was made 
luminously clear to her mental vision. She had closed 
her ears to the call of God's grace, to the sound of 
those strong Feet that "followed, followed after" her 
flying soul; she had clung with passionate determina- 
tion to the wealth which was the price of that soul — 
and all for what? Not for herself in even the least 
degree: had she had only herself to consider, she 
knew that she would willingly, — nay, gladly — have 
cast the Chisholm fortune aside, and gone back to 
poverty and labor, if so she might follow the strong 

[280] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

attraction which drew her toward the Catholic Church. 
It was for Cecily that the costly sacrifice had been 
made; for Cecily, that she might plunge deeper and 
deeper into worldliness, and drink her fill of the 
pleasure, admiration and luxury for which her nature 
thirsted. And when all the senses had been satisfied 
and the end came — as come it must, either soon or 
late — would not Cecily then, 

. . . thinking but on things of time, 
Into eternal darkness go? 

She knew well that Cecily would smile at such 
a suggestion, would call it an exploded superstition of 
the past, and that she herself not long before would 
have smiled also. But of late she had learned many 
things, though how she learned them she could not 
tell; and at this present moment the darkness flowing 
down upon the material world brought a message 
which she could not disregard, — the message of a 
deeper darkness awaiting the soul that deliberately 
ignored and turned away from God. 

And in Cecily's fate how much responsibility would 
be hers? This was what was chiefly made clear to her 
with an appalling clearness. She had not thought 
of herself: she had, on the contrary, made her choice 
in a spirit of absolute unselfishness with ardent desire 
to pour happiness upon Cecily. And now it was shown 
to her that she would do Cecily a great wrong in feeding 
the spirit of worldliness, and leading her along a path 
of spiritual darkness. And meanwhile the consciousness 
of Cecily herself — of Cecily strangely mingled with the 
descending twilight — deepened and pressed upon her. 

How long a time elapsed while she remained 

[281] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

motionless considering these things which some power 
outside herself seemed presenting to her, and under- 
going an experience of mental emotion she was destined 
never to forget, she did not know. But she was presently 
aware of Mrs. Kemp's voice speaking in the lighted 
hall beyond the room where she sat in the obscurity 
of the fallen dusk: 

"I'm quite sure Miss Honora's at home, Mr. 
Bernard. I haven't seen her since she came in, but 
I heard her playing the piano; and I've been waiting 
for her to say that she's ready for her tea — she hasn't 
been taking dinner since Miss Cecily's been away." 

And then Bernard Chisholm's voice, with the deep 
baritone note she knew so well: 

"If you heard her playing, perhaps she is still in 
the music-room — " 

Honora rose and came forward to the door of the 
room. 

"Yes, Bernard: here I am," she said. 

He turned quickly, and as the brilliant light from 
the electroliers fell on his face, she saw that he was 
looking singularly pale, and that there was in his eyes 
an expression quite new to her, which roused a vague 
sense of apprehension. 

"I am glad to find you," he said, advancing toward 
her. "Alicia told me that you were at home. May 
I speak to you for a few minutes?" 

"How formal!" she smiled. "You may certainly 
speak to me for as many minutes as you like. I've 
just been wishing that you would come and play for 
me. Perhaps my wishing brought you." 

He did not answer her smile by another, as he would 
ordinarily have done. 

[282] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"No," he replied gravely, as he followed her into 
the music-room, to which she turned back, and switched 
on the lights as he entered. "No," he repeated, as he 
paused and stood looking at her with the same un- 
familiar expression in his eyes. "I have come to bring 
you a message." 

"A message!" Fear clutched at her heart suffo- 
catingly, and then she knew why he was regarding 
her so compassionately. "What has happened to 
Cecily?" she asked. 

"She has been injured in an automobile accident," 
he answered. "No, she is not dead" (her lips had 
gasped one word), "but her condition is — very seri- 
ous. It is necessary that you should go to her at 
once." 

"How have you heard?" It seemed to her that she 
hardly spoke audibly, but he answered at once: 

"Selwyn telegraphed to me. He did not know 
how else to reach you, without giving you too much 
of a shock. It is a very short time since I received the 
message. I replied that you would leave by the night 
train, as of course you will." 

"Of course. When does it go?" 

"At ten o'clock, — there is nothing earlier." 

"It is hard to wait even so long. I should like to 
start this moment. Is there the least hope that I may 
find her — alive?" Then, as he hesitated, uncertain 
what to answer, she held out her hand. "Give me the 
message," she said. 

He handed it to her silently; and, opening it, she 
read: 

"Let Miss Trezevant know that her sister has 
been dangerously injured in an automobile accident. 

[283] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

Condition desperate, but still living. Necessary Miss 
Trezevant should come without delay. 

"Robert Selwyn." 

There was a moment's pause, and then Honora 
lifted her eyes, and Bernard thought that he had never 
seen deeper anguish in a human glance. 

"It is for my fault that Cecily is dying," she said 
in a strange, toneless voice. "You must know that." 

"Your fault!" Bernard was so deeply startled that 
he could only echo her words. " How is that possible?" 

"Surely you know," she repeated. "When we 
talked of the ' Hound of Heaven ' you understood : you 
knew that God demanded a great sacrifice of me, and 
that I refused — for Cecily's sake. You can't tell me 
that you didn't understand?" 

"Yes, I understood," he answered. "I knew — I've 
known for some time — how it was with you; and 
my sympathy has been beyond anything that I can 
express." 

"I don't deserve your sympathy," she said; and 
her voice was now as full of anguish as her eyes. "I 
have been a coward — I could not face all that the 
renunciation of your uncle's fortune would mean — I 
could not condemn Cecily again to poverty. I turned 
my back on God — I chose the world for her — and now 
He is taking her out of it — and it is for my fault — my 
fault!" 

Then Bernard made a step forward and took her 
hands, while the paper which bore the message fell 
unheeded to the floor. 

"Honora," he said— and in his tone tenderness 
and command were mingled, — "these thoughts are 
worse than morbid: they are madness. If I have 

[284] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

understood your struggle, if I have seen how hardly 
you were placed, how )^our very unselfishness was 
turned against you, and how impossible, humanly 
speaking, it was for you to have acted other than 
you have done, do you think God has understood less 
and pitied less? You must not doubt His sympathy 
or His goodness, and you must not try to interpret the 
meaning of His acts by your own limited ideas. If 
He wills to call Cecily out of the world, it may be for 
some reason that you do not guess: it may be because 
the passionate love of the world, already so strong 
in her, would grow with unlimited indulgence until 
it would absorb all that was good in her nature." 

"I see!" Honora murmured, — "the unlimited indul- 
gence which I have been so eager to give her at any 
cost!" 

"Yes, which you have been ready to risk your 
soul to give her" — he felt that it was no time for 
weighing or measuring words, — "and which might 
easily have proved the eternal ruin of her soul. Try 
to feel that it may be to save her, rather than to punish 
you, that God will take her, if she is to go." 

"Oh, you are good, very good, to speak like this!" 
she cried. "You see things with wonderful clearness; 
and, strangely enough, I have seen them— a little — in 
the same way." She paused and cast a glance around 
the now brightly lighted room, as if seeking something 
which was not there; and when she went on speaking, 
her voice sank involuntarily to a whisper. "Not long 
ago," she said, "as I sat here in the dusk, I was 
suddenly, overwhelmingly conscious of Cecily. It was 
as if she were standing beside me — when I turned my 
head, I almost felt that I would see her, and thoughts 

f 285 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

somewhat like these you have suggested, came to 

me. . . . For the first time the idea occurred to me 

that I might do her harm instead of good by the 

sacrifice I was ready to make in order that she might 

have everything she wanted in life; and — and some 

terrible lines from one of your Catholic hymns struck 

me, — lines about 

. . . thinking but on things of time, 
Into eternal darkness go. 

Perhaps you remember them?" 

"I remember them very well." 

"Well, they seemed to link so strangely with the 
thought of Cecily, to obtrude so persistently into my 
mind, that a fear I can not describe seized me. I seemed 
to realize indescribably what would be Cecily's fate 
if she died now,— how entirely she had always been 
without thought of anything save things of time; 
and how, instead of helping her to think of anything 
else, I was ready to risk my soul, as you have said, 
to feed her love of the world and worldly things." She 
shuddered strongly. "It was very awful," she went 
on. "It was as if I looked down the long vista of eternity, 
and saw— I can not express what I saw. But I feel 
that I would do anything, that I would strip myself 
of everything, if I might only gain for Cecily time 
to think of eternal things! Oh, do you think that I 
can? Do you think that God will be merciful enough 
to let me do it, — I who have been ready to betray Him 
for love of a creature?" 

"I believe that He will," Bernard answered gently. 
"I believe that He has interfered to show you that 
you were making a terrible mistake, not only for 
yourself but for Cecily; that He will accept your 

[286] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

sacrifice if you are willing to make it, and grant to her 
the time which is the most precious gift you can now 
win for her." 

"Do you think that was what she came to ask, — 
for I had the feeling that she asked — that she wanted — 
something of me?" 

Bernard had the consciousness of being in deeper 
waters spiritually than he had ever been in before; 
but he could not turn from the appeal of the anguished 
eyes fastened on him. And so he answered steadily: 

"I have no right to speak in such matters; but, 
since you asked me, I do think that what she wanted 
was that you should help her in this supreme crisis, 
when her eternal fate may be trembling in the balance. 
She has always come to you when she needed help, 
has she not?" 

"Oh, always, — since she was a little child and 
our mother died!" 

"Then it is plain that in mortal fear, with the 
dread of death upon her, her thoughts have turned 
to you with the old instinct of demanding help, whether 
she knew what form the help might take or not. But 
we know what God has already demanded of you, and 
you have refused to give — for her sake. Now it is for 
her sake, to save her from going into the eternal dark- 
ness of which you have spoken, that you are again 
asked to give it." 

He could not add, "Will you again refuse?" But 
his eyes asked the question, and she answered it 
immediately. 

'There can be no question of refusal," she said. 
"It has all been made too plain to me. I have seen 
clearly that what I was so anxious to do for her would 

[287] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

have been for the eternal ruin of her soul; and so, 
even if she recovers and reproaches me for casting 
her again into poverty, I shall know that I acted for 
the best." 

"I do not think that she will reproach you," he 
said. "If she has looked death in the face, and realized 
it as it can be realized only when we stand face to 
face with it, she will be glad to come back to life, 
even at the price of resigning your fortune and her 
own ambitions." He was silent for a moment, and 
then, as if weighing every word, "I believe," he said, 
"that that was the appeal her spirit was making to 
yours." 

"But she does not even know — " 

"Perhaps she knows more than you imagine; and, 
at all events, God knows, and could reveal to her 
what was necessary." 

Again there was silence in the beautiful, illuminated 
room; while the two figures standing in the centre 
of the floor gazed into each other's eyes, oblivious of 
everything beside the struggle for a human soul which 
had reached its culminating point. Honora was abso- 
lutely unconscious that she was clinging to Bernard's 
hands as one might cling to a life-line, and Bernard 
himself, held by the stress of her emotion, and by his 
perception of the issues that were at stake, had thought 
only for her, — not even at this moment for his own 
deepening love, which was also hanging on her 
decision. 

And the decision came swiftly. 

"Do you think," she asked, "that I would find your 
church open at this hour? I should like to go there 
for a few minutes." 

[288] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"It is probably still open, for it is not late," he 
replied. "But if not, it can be opened for you. Do 
you wish to go at once?" 

"At once," she answered. 'Touch the bell that 
I may order the car; and you will go with me, will 
you not? You understand that I am going to make 
in the most solemn manner a promise and an offering 
to God." 

"I understand." His face was vivid with emotion 
as he spoke. "And, understanding, I thank God; 
and I will go with you to the end of the world, if you 
will allow me." 



[289] 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE accident in which Cecily had been so des- 
perately injured proved a tragedy in the fullest 
degree for her unfortunate companion, who was 
killed outright, being crushed under the car, from 
which she was hurled, as it went over a steep declivity, 
when, coming around a sharp curve at a high rate 
of speed, its driver endeavored to pass a country wagon 
encountered there. From among the rocks and trees 
of the hillside where she was thrown, the girl was 
picked up insensible and scarcely breathing, and it 
was several hours before she gave any sign of con- 
sciousness. Then, opening her eyes, she murmured her 
sister's name, seemed to understand the assurance 
that she had been summoned, and with a sigh lapsed 
into insensibility again. 

So Honora found her when she arrived the next 
day, and it was at the sound of her voice that Cecily 
again opened her eyes and showed signs of conscious- 
ness. "Nora!" she whispered faintly, in the tone of 
her childhood, and seemed to ask nothing more than 
the knowledge that the familiar and beloved presence 
was beside her. 

But although Honora had the happiness of finding 
her alive, the doctors in attendance, and the famous 
surgeon who was summoned for consultation, shook 
their heads gravely over the case. That she might 

[290] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

survive her injuries, grave as these were, they admitted; 
but it was probable that she would be crippled for 
life, and she would almost certainly be badly disfigured. 

"One is tempted to think that it would have been 
better if she had been killed, like poor Jack Dorrance," 
Edith Selwyn said, when she heard this. "I can not 
imagine how Cecily will live — crippled, and with her 
beauty gone! It is a tragedy worse than death." 

Her husband, to whom she spoke, assented 
mournfully. 

"It's one of the saddest things I ever heard of," 
he said. "I don't wonder that poor Julian is com- 
pletely broken up over it." 

"Nor I," Edith agreed; "for he was desperately in 
love with her, though she has treated him abominably." 

"Isn't 'abominably' rather a harsh expression?" 
Mr. Selwyn deprecated. 

"It may be harsh, but it's quite accurate," Edith 
replied; "though of course one feels as if the old rule 
about not saying unkind things of the dead were 
applicable to her. But she isn't dead; and how she 
is going to live, I don't know. When I say that to 
Julian, he just shakes his head hopelessly and answers 
nothing." 

And indeed there seemed nothing for any one to 
say in the face of Cecily's tragedy. Even those who 
loved her best could only look at each other dumbly, 
and wonder how it would be with her when she learned 
what was before her in life. How would the passionate, 
undisciplined, world-loving and self-loving spirit endure 
helplessness, pain, and the utter wreck of all its hopes? 
Honora's heart sank in something nearly akin to despair 
as she asked herself the question, which she dared not 

[ 291 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

utter aloud. And then, as she knew well, the situation 
was further complicated by her firm resolve, and solemn 
promise made to God, to resign the Chisholm fortune 
and enter the Catholic Church. No one as yet knew of 
this except Bernard Chisholm; and it was by his advice 
that she postponed any announcement of her intention 
until Cecily was sufficiently recovered to be able to bear 
it. When this would be, and how she would bear such 
an additional blow, Honora was unable even to imagine. 
But she determined to leave the future in the hands of 
Him who demanded the great sacrifice of her, and 
for the present live only in the duty of the day. 

When it was at last decided that immediate danger 
of death was over, Cecily was, by her own request, 
conveyed to Kingsford; and there, in the beautiful, 
spacious house which she had learned to call home, 
was settled with trained nurses, and all that wealth 
could give of skill and comfort to ease her suffering. 
And again it was by Bernard's advice that Honora 
acted. 

"You owe that much to her," he said. "The blow 
will be hard enough, come when and how it may; and 
she must be strong — as strong as she is ever likely 
to be — before she is called upon to endure it." 

"You are sure of this?" she asked wistfully. "Of 
course it is what I wish to do; but I distrust my own 
judgment and fear my own weakness where she is 
concerned." 

"I am perfectly sure," he answered. "And I don't 
advise you on my own responsibility alone. I have, 
by your permission, taken advice; and I am assured 
on ecclesiastical authority that, under the circum- 
stances, you are not only excusable but right in defer- 

[292 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

ring action until your sister has recovered from her 
injuries." 

"But God only knows when that will be," she said 
sadly. 

"God does know, however," Bernard replied; "so 
leave the matter to Him, who is Himself dealing with 
her." 

"Do you think that He is?" she asked. "It seems 
to me rather as if He were dealing with me, and that 
all she is suffering, and must yet suffer, is my fault. 
I put her before Him: I was determined not to give 
up the fortune which meant so much for her, and 
He struck her down to punish me. I told you that 
at first, and I have never been able to feel anything 
else." 

"I know," he said gently. "And in a sense it is 
true. I, too, believe that God struck her down because 
there was no other way to release you — to make you 
understand what He demanded of you. But I also 
believe that He thought of her, and desired to save 
her from herself. And, clearly, there was no other 
way than this. Half measures would not do for 
Cecily." 

"I doubt if anything will ever reconcile her to 
what is before her," Honora said. "I confess that 
I am frightened, terribly frightened, when I think of 
the future." 

"Do not think of it," Bernard urged again. And 
now he laid his hand down upon hers; for they were 
sitting as of old in the garden, now in all the maturity 
of its later summer glory. "Trust God and also trust 
me. You know that I love you: let me help you to 
take care of Cecily." 

[ 293 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

She looked at him with eyes that were at once 
very soft and very brilliant. 

"Oh, you are good — you are more than good," 
she breathed, "to be able to care for one as weak and 
wicked as I have been — " 

"Honora," he interrupted, "I will not let you say 
such things of yourself!" 

"Ah, but they are true! And you know they are 
true," she told him. "I had made my choice; and it 
was a choice that you must despise, — you who chose 
so differently." 

"My dear, my dear, don't you know better than 
that?" he asked. "I had no such choice as yours to 
make. I had to think only of myself, and that was 
very easy; no one else suffered by my decision. But 
you — have I not told you that I realized as clearly as 
if I had been yourself all that you were called upon 
to give up, and how all the unselfishness of your nature 
was arrayed against you? It was a terrible situation, 
a terrible struggle. And I, who knew and felt it so 
intensely, could not help you in any way except by 
my prayers. That was terrible, too." 

"Very far from terrible," she said; "for you could 
not have helped me in any other way so effectively. 
I am sure it was your prayers that won the final grace 
for me; just as it was you who sustained my soul 
when the blow fell that almost drove me to despair, — 
that would have driven me to despair, I think, if you 
had not been there to tell me what to believe and 
what to do." 

"You make me very grateful — to God and to you," 
he said. "It was what I desired of all things, — to be 
able to help you when the final crisis came, whatever 

[ 294] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

it might be. And now you will promise to let me help 
you always and in all things, will you not?" 

But, looking at him with the same softly brilliant 
eyes, she shook her head. 

"No," she said gently but firmly, " I can not promise 
that; for it would mean to give you my life, and my 
life is not my own to give away." 

"Why is it not your own?" he asked. 

"Ah, you must know!" she answered. "It belongs 
to Cecily. It is not only that it has always belonged 
to her, since my mother gave her to me in solemn 
charge when she was dying, but I feel that I have an 
added dut)' of reparation to her now. She has been 
struck down and her whole life ruined — my poor 
Cecily! — through my fault. We are both sure of that, 
you and I; for, though it may be true, as you have 
said, that God has also saved her from herself, the 
fact remains that she is suffering through me, that she 
will need me as she has never needed me yet, and that 
I must not divide the duty I owe to her." 

"But why," he urged, "will you not let me share 
the duty with you, as I should be so happy to do? I 
am better able to undertake the burden than you 
are, and between us we could make her life all that 
it can be made now. Honora, dear heart, you must 
yield to me in this!" 

But again Honora shook her head. 

"Don't make it harder for me than you can help," 
she said; "for I can not yield. I have thought it all 
over, and I have asked God to show me what it is 
right for me to do, and I see very plainly that my 
duty is to take care of Cecily. And I could not do 
this as it should be done if — if I married you." 

[ 295 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"But, again, why not?" he demanded. "Can you 
not trust me? Do you think I would ever interfere 
with, or try to lessen, the care you would give to her?" 

"I am certain that you would not," she answered; 
"but I am also certain that one can not divide oneself 
between two duties and do them equally well. One 
or the other will suffer from neglect. Now, I could not 
bear to neglect either you or her; and so I must not 
try the experiment. I must give mj^ life to Cecily: I 
see that clearly. It is duty and reparation in one." 

"I can not accept this as a final decision," he said. 
"You must not think that I will." 

She smiled a little sadly as she rose. 

"You will accept it after a while," she said; "for 
there is no hope of any other decision from me. And 
here is an example of what I mean; for yonder is 
the nurse coming for me. Cecily wants me, and so I 
must leave you." 

It was a day or two after this that Bernard met 
Julian Page on the street, and was promptly seized 
upon by the latter, and haled up to his studio, despite 
remonstrances. 

"'Too busy' indeed!" the young man snorted 
scornfully. "I am sick of that excuse, and I don't 
mean to accept it any longer. Do you know that you 
are in danger of becoming an apostle of hustle and a 
slave of filthy lucre? 'No time,' when you've all the 
time there is! And what better use can you make of 
it than to give it to your friends, when they pay you 
the compliment of calling upon you in their troubles?" 

"Of course there's no better use to be made of 
time than to help a friend in his trouble," Bernard 

[296] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

admitted; "but if there's really nothing one can do, 
you know — " 

"And how the deuce can you tell whether or not 
there's anything you can do, unless you listen to what 
a fellow has to say?" Julian inquired. 

"I thought I knew pretty well what you wanted 
to say," Bernard replied; "and, although I feel for 
you as much as possible, I can't see that there's a 
single thing, in the line of practical help, that it's 
in my power to render you." 

"Are you quite sure of that?" 

"I fancied I was; but if you can show me other- 
wise, I'll be glad to do anything possible." 

"That's only what I expected of you," the other 
said. 

They were in the studio by this time; and as 
Bernard glanced around the big, airy room, with its 
windows looking out over the fair, wide country lying 
beyond the foliage-embowered town, he was struck 
by the absence of any signs of work. Palettes, brushes, 
and tubes of paint were reposing in a condition of 
unnatural order and cleanliness on a table which was 
usually a picture of artistic disorder; a few sketches 
of mountain scenes were standing about, — notably one 
of Lake Toxaway; but the tall easel in the middle 
of the room bore only one canvas, and that was Cecily's 
portrait, which had never been taken away. Bernard 
had started at sight of this when he entered; for it 
was as if Cecily herself were standing there in all her 
youthful grace and beauty, with the faint, mocking 
smile he knew so well on her lips and in her eyes. 

"It's a wonderful likeness, isn't it?" Julian, who 
had seen the start, said. "I didn't know until I came 

[ 297] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

back what a vivid piece of work it is. It's so far beyond 
anything else I've ever done that I think I was 
inspired to do it, in order that there might be at least 
a shadow of her loveliness left in the world if — if — " 

His voice choked; he flung himself down on the 
divan where Cecily had so often sat, and, dropping 
his head into his hands, groaned aloud. 

"It's more than a man can bear!" he said after 
a while, — "to look at that picture — to see what she 
was and to think of what she has been made! Bernard, 
do you know — have you heard — any details of the 
extent of her injuries?" 

Bernard shook his head. 

"I have heard nothing. I don't think that even 
the surgeons know yet what the final result will be — 
I mean how much she will be disfigured — " 

Julian threw up his hands. 

"Don't use that word!" he cried sharply. "It— it 
is damnable! It makes a man feel murderous!" 

"Look here!" said Bernard. "Are you an absolute 
pagan? Have you never given a thought to anything 
but that girl's beautiful body? Have you never 
remembered that she has an immortal soul, and, 
instead of raging against the loss of her beauty, been 
grateful to God that she was — possibly — saved from 
the loss of her soul?" 

Julian lifted his head and stared at the speaker 
resentfully. 

"I didn't bring you here to preach," he observed. 

"No, you didn't," Bernard acknowledged; "but, 
nevertheless, you brought me. And, now that I am 
here, I will 'preach,' whether you like it or not. For 
I tell you frankly that I'm tired of your ingratitude 

[298] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

and your pagan view of things. I was patient with 
it at first, because I knew it was natural, since you 
are an artist as well as a man of the modern world; 
and that means a man who has practically lost all 
faith in the divine government. But I can't pretend 
to sympathize with you when you are making an 
idol of that beauty" (he pointed to the portrait); 
"and when you are absolutely blind to the fact that 
she had also made an idol of it, and that it was leading 
her to destruction." 

"And so I suppose you think — confound you! — 
that her beauty was destroyed in order to save what 
you call her immortal soul ! " Julian commented savagely. 

"I'm not presumptuous enough to attempt to 
interpret the acts of God in any positive manner," 
Bernard replied; "I'm only pointing out certain plain 
facts to you. Be as indignant as you please with me, 
but you must admit that Cecily Trezevant worshipped 
her own beauty before and above everything else; 
and that she was resolutely determined to take it into 
the open market of the world, and buy with it and with 
her sister's money all that her passionate vanity and 
love of life craved. You can't deny this" (Julian was 
glaring at him speechlessly). "You know that she had 
swept everything aside in order to fulfil her ambition 
and gratify her craving for admiration; that she would 
not listen to your love, although I believe that she 
really cared for you; and that she was forcing her 
sister to do what her conscience and judgment opposed; 
and yet you can see no hidden mercy in the blow that 
spared even while it struck her!" 

"I can see nothing but puritanical brutality in 
such a view of her tragedy as that!" Julian growled 
furiously. [ 209 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Poor old man!" Bernard walked over and laid 
his hand on the other's shoulder. "Call it what you 
like; but I'm sure you see it as plainly as I do, in 
spite of the rage and the pity that are consuming you. 
Nothing short of what has happened could have 
stopped Cecily. You know that." 

"There was no reason why she should have been 
stopped. There was no crime in what she wanted 
to do. Other women are doing it every day, and your 
God doesn't interfere to stop them." 

"My dear fellow, we don't know in the least what 
God's intentions or dealings are with other women; 
we are concerned only with what we can perceive 
about Cecily. She was set upon doing herself a great 
injury; for all that was good in her would soon have 
perished in the atmosphere into which she was about 
to plunge. And she has been rescued from that, even 
at the cost of the loss of the beauty — " 

"Don't say 'that was a snare to her soul,' or I 
think I shall knock you down!" 

"If it would relieve your feelings, I shouldn't very 
much mind," Bernard observed cheerfully. "But I 
was really about to say, ' the beauty that both you 
and she adored.'" 

"I did adore it," Julian confessed, after a moment 
of silence; "and so would any artist, for it was an 
altogether adorable thing. But in the days I've spent 
here alone with that" (he indicated the portrait by a 
motion of his head) "I have learned that Cecily was 
more than her beauty; and that what I loved was 
the charming, brilliant, capricious, provoking creature, 
who was the most inspiring and delightful of comrades, 
as well as the most beautiful of women." 

[ 300] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"In short, you've found that what you loved was 
her soul rather than her beautiful body." 

"I loved herself. But the beauty was so much a 
part of herself that it seemed to blind me to every- 
thing else; yet I've found that it can be taken away, 
and the Cecily I have loved remains. I own that it 
has been a terrible struggle to discover this. I have 
walked the floor night after night before that picture, 
and raged at the thought of what has been destroyed; 
but at last — out of it all — I am conscious that some- 
thing has emerged which is higher and purer, and I 
believe stronger, than what went before. Do you 
think you understand what I am trying to say very 
obscurely?" 

"You are saying it very clearly," Bernard told 
him; "and I understand perfectly. I thought that 
it would be so. And, Julian — " 

"Yes?" 

"I believe you'll find that the same kind of change 
has been wrought in her. I have no reason on earth 
to think this, except from an instinct which tells me 
that there must be something in her beside frivolity, 
selfishness, and worldliness, for God to have spared 
her, and, as it were, taken so much trouble with her. 
And if that core of soundness exists, suffering may bring 
it out." 

"I have feared that, on the contrary, it may render 
her desperate. When I think of the things I have 
heard her say — " 

"Never mind those things. The Cecily who said 
them was a spoiled, flippant girl, who had never been 
touched by the realities of life. Since then she has 
looked at death, and suffering has tried her as only 

[301 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

suffering can. She is neither a fool nor a coward, and 
I think she will learn her lesson." 

"I can't imagine Cecily different from what she 
has been," Julian muttered. 

He rose as he spoke, and began to pace the floor, 
as in the long night vigils of which he had spoken, 
pausing now and again to look with passionate wist- 
fulness at the beautiful girl who smiled at him from 
her canvas. Bernard watched him silently, saying 
nothing; for he felt sure that what had been said 
already was only a preparation for what was to come, 
and that Julian's next words would tell him why he 
had been so insistent upon bringing him up to the 
studio. Nothing as yet had been said to explain this. 
Presently, still walking, the young man began to 
speak: 

"No doubt you are wondering whether I brought 
you up here simply to talk things over in this way. 
Well, I didn't. I had no thought of anything of the 
kind. I asked you to come for a very definite purpose, 
and that was to learn if you thought there was any 
hope at all of my being allowed to see her — Cecity I 
mean?" 

"My dear man, how can I tell?" Bernard's tone 
was full of sympathy. "I don't think any one has 
been allowed to see her yet; but I will ask her sister, 
if you wish me to do so." 

"I shall be grateful if you will," Julian answered; 
"for I don't like to intrude. But I am very anxious 
to see her as soon as it can be permitted." He took 
another turn across the room before he added: "There's 
something I should like to say to her. It isn't a matter 

[302 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

of much importance to her, perhaps; but I want to 
say it for my own satisfaction." 

"I understand." Bernard had indeed a very distinct 
illumination with regard to the other's meaning. "You 
want to assure her of your unchanged devotion." 

Julian nodded assent. 'That's it," he said. "She 
must be feeling terribly about her condition, and 
there's a bare chance that such an assurance might 
be — er — a little comfort to her." 

Bernard felt quite certain that, unless Cecily had 
changed very radically, the assurance spoken of would 
prove a decided comfort to her. So he repeated that 
he would convey the request to Honora as soon as 
possible — and then suddenly an inspiration came to 
him, concerning which he did not stop to reflect. 

"If you are going to say anything of that kind 
to Cecily," he remarked, "there is something that I 
think you ought to know first." 

Julian stopped short in his walk, and turned a 
white face upon him. 

"What is it?" he asked sharply. "What is there 
possibly for me to know about her that I don't know 
already?" 

"One very important thing — at least it would be 
important to most people," Bernard answered. "Cecily 
will soon be as poor as she was before my uncle left 
his fortune to her sister." 

Julian's eyes opened wide in startled amazement. 

"How in Heaven's name can that come about?" 
he demanded. 

"Very simply," Bernard answered. "Honora is 
about to become a Catholic, and she will forfeit the 
fortune when she does so. Remember that I am telling 

[303 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

you this in strict confidence. No one except myself 
knows of her intention as yet; and she will defer any 
action until Cecily has recovered. But nothing is 
more certain than that she will then enter the Church." 

"Good Lord!" 

Julian stood as if rooted in his tracks, and stared 
with expanded, incredulous eyes at the speaker for at 
least a minute after uttering the above ejaculation. 
Then comprehension seemed to penetrate his brain 
like a flash, and he burst into an exultant laugh as he 
turned toward the portrait. 

"You didn't think it possible, Cecily," he cried; 
"but, after all, my chance to prove that all men are 
not alike has come." 



[304 J 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

IT was owing no doubt to her youth and perfect 
health that Cecily astonished the doctors by the 
manner in which she rallied from the effects of her 
really terrible injuries. The injuries themselves re- 
mained (for even under the most favorable conditions 
broken bones take long to heal), but the nervous shock 
which was their first result, and which produced a 
physical exhaustion so complete as to cause the gravest 
apprehension, passed away sooner than the most 
sanguine of her attendants had ventured to hope; 
and the mysterious fountain of life, which is the source 
of energy, welled up again within her. 

The first sign of this was a willingness to talk; 
for up to that time she had been wrapped in silence 
as in a garment. But now she not only answered with 
something beside a monosyllable when addressed, but 
she even ventured a few remarks to Honora. After 
a while her mind went back to the accident, and she 
began to speak of what she remembered of it — which 
was, however, very little. 

"It was all so quick!" she said. "It happened in 
a moment. But one can feel a great deal in a moment. 
One instant we were talking and laughing — just non- 
sense, of course (and no doubt Mr. Dorrance was driving 
too fast; for we spun around one of those sharp 
mountain curves, and found ourselves facing a great, 

[ 305 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

heavy wagon), — and then I screamed, and the man 
before us pulled up his mules and shouted something; 
and Mr. Dorranee tried to stop, but the brake, or 
whatever it was, wouldn't work, and the car shot on; 
and he tried to pass the wagon, but the road was too 
narrow, and I knew we were going over, and — and — 
we went — and that's all I know." 

She paused and her eyes grew large and wild, as 
if she were feeling again the agony of that moment 
when, clutching vainly for some support, she was 
flung from the heavy car as it crashed down the 
mountain side. Presently she went on: 

'When I felt the car turning, I knew we were 
going to be killed, and I remember crying to God — it 
seems one does that instinctively — and to you. I don't 
know why I should have thought of you in such a 
moment of awful terror, except that it was as I used 
to call to you when I was a little child, and you would 
come running to help me. Well, of course that was 
a matter of instinct, too. If I had been able to think, 
I should have known that you couldn't help me; but 
I didn't think: I just felt. And my last recollection, 
as the car went over, is of calling on you — and on God. 
I had no right to call on God, for I had never thought 
of Him before; but — I did." 

"And He heard you," Honora said. She was 
kneeling by the side of the couch on which the other 
lay, stroking softly the white hand that rested in her 
own like a bit of ivory carving. "He saved you from 
death, my dearest! And I'm sure you are grateful 
to Him." 

'Yes, I'm grateful," Cecily said slowly. "I couldn't 
have believed that I would be, but I am. If I had been 

[306] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

asked beforehand, I should have said that I would 
rather die than live crippled and disfigured, as I know 
that I shall be. But one doesn't feel that way after 
one has looked death in the face. One feels that it 
is good to be alive on any terms." 

"I am glad of that," Honora said, — "I mean I 
am glad that you feel in this way. I have feared that 
you would find your helplessness very hard to bear." 

"Of course I shall find it hard to bear," Cecily 
answered. "I've always found everything hard to 
bear that wasn't according to my desires, and I'm not 
likely to change now. But I've had a glimpse of some- 
thing so terrible that I can't think of anything save 
thanksgiving for being spared it. I feel like a frightened 
child who just wants to hold fast to the hand that 
has rescued her from deadly peril." 

Involuntarily her fingers closed tightly upon the 
hand which was holding hers. But Honora cried 
hastily : 

"Oh, my dear, it was the hand of God, not mine, 
that rescued you!" 

"I think that you had something to do with it," 
Cecily said calmly. "My first thought when I came 
to myself and knew that I was alive was, ' Honora 
helped me.' I was perfectly sure of it; and I don't 
think I was mistaken. You — prayed, didn't you?" 

"O my dear, my dear, of course I prayed with all 
my heart!" 

"Well, that was it." Cecily's voice was absolutely 
childlike now. "You have always been so good that 
God listened to you, and here I am, and — and we won't 
talk any more about it now." 

"No, we mustn't talk any more now," Honora 

[307] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

agreed. "But I feel bound to tell you that I haven't 
been good at all — you are making a great mistake 
about that, — and if God listened to my prayers it was 
more than I deserved, though I can never thank Him 
enough for doing so." 

"I thank Him myself, though I don't know much 
about Him," Cecily murmured. 

Several days elapsed after this before Honora felt 
it safe to introduce the subject of a visit from Julian 
Page. But Cecily was steadily gaining strength, and 
she had seen one or two visitors — Edith Selwyn and 
Alicia Page — for a short time on different occasions; 
so it seemed as if the young man's earnest desire to 
say a few words to her might be gratified. But while 
Honora still doubted, Cecily herself opened the way 
for the request. 

"I saw you from my window talking to Bernard 
on the terrace this morning," she said one day. "Why 
don't you bring him to see me? Doesn't he want to 
come?" 

"I'm sure he would like very much to come," 
Honora answered; "but he hasn't asked to do so, 
because no doubt he thinks that it wouldn't be 
allowed." Then she paused, hesitated, and finally 
went on: "But there is some one else who hasn't 
been so considerate," she said, — "some one who has 
been insistently urgent to be permitted to see you, 
if only for a few minutes. I suppose you can guess 
who that is?" 

There was a short silence before Cecily said: 

"Oh, yes, it is easily guessed! There is only one 
person who would be foolish enough to care so 

[308] 



THE vSECRET BEQUEST 

much about seeing me, and that is Julian Page." 

"And do you call him foolish for caring?" Honora 
asked. 

Cecily looked up at her with eyes dark with pain. 

"I call him very foolish," she said; "for he is an 
artist who worships beauty. He loved me for my 
beauty — there wasn't anything else he could love me 
for, — and he will find that the beauty is gone. So 
why should he wish to see me? It would be better 
if he never saw me again. Then he could remember 
me as I — was." 

"But, Cecil}'' my darling, why suppose that he 
cared only for your beauty? Why not believe that he 
loved you for yourself, for your whole personality, of 
which the beauty was only a part?" 

"Because I should have to be a vainer fool than 
I am, or ever have been, to believe anything of the 
kind," Cecity replied incisively. "In the first place, 
I know men (and among men I know artists) very 
well; and, in the second place, I know that I never 
showed Julian Page a single trait of character that 
could attract anybody. You see, it was this way: 
he was desperately in love with me, and I liked him 
well enough to be afraid of liking him more. Now, 
don't be so silly as to ask why I was afraid of that, 
for you can't have forgotten all the plan of life I had 
laid out for myself. I was determined to carry out 
that plan — determined that he should not interfere 
with it, — and so I never showed him anything but 
selfishness and worldllness and greed of the worst 
kind; and he would have had to be an absolute idiot 
if he had found anything in me except my beauty to 
care for." 

[309] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"O Cecily, Cecily!" Honora did not know whether 
to laugh or to cry, and what she did was a mixture of 
both. "How unsparingly you judge yourself, and 
how much too severe you are in your judgment! I 
always thought you cared for Julian more than you 
would admit, and I am sure that you do him injustice 
in thinking that he cared only for your beauty. Give 
him at least a chance to tell you how he feels toward 
you!" 

But Cecily shook her head inflexibly. 

"There is nothing to be gained by it," she said. 
" He would be moved by compassion to try to maintain 
the old admiring pose, and I should read the truth in 
his eyes, and — and, frankly, I couldn't bear it. No, 
no! All that is over, and I don't wish ever to see him 
again." 

"Cecily, don't you know that this is most unkind 
as well as most unjust? You have no right to decide 
upon his feelings." 

"Oh, yes, I have!" Cecily returned. "Or, at any 
rate, I have a right to decide upon my own, and to 
say whom I wish to see. I don't wish to see Julian 
Page, and I don't mean to see him; so please let this 
be clearly understood." 

"I don't know how he will bear such a decision," 
Honora said in last appeal. 

' ' He will bear it better than what would follow on 
seeing me," Cecily answered. "Don't argue any more, 
Honora; for I shall not change my mind." 

Honora knew the speaker well enough to be con- 
vinced of this; so she argued no more, but carried to 
Bernard the decision thus delivered. 

"It is hard on Julian," she said, "but Cecily refuses 

[310] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to see him because she is certain that he cared only 
for her beauty, and she believes that her beauty is 
gone." 

"She might give him a chance to speak for himself 
on that point," Bernard suggested. 

"Of course she might," Honora agreed. "But she 
is afraid that pity would make him pretend to a feeling 
he did not have." 

"She has an exaggerated opinion of his altruism," 
Bernard smiled. "He's a good fellow, Julian, but I'm 
quite sure it would never occur to him to sacrifice himself 
in such a fashion." 

"But how are we to convince Cecily of that?" 

"We can't convince her: that is for Julian to do." 

"And how is he to convince her, if she continues to 
refuse to see him?" 

" She can't continue to refuse, unless she shuts 
herself up for the rest of her life. You may trust him 
to find or make an opportunity to see her as soon as 
she becomes accessible." 

"I wouldn't allow him to force himself into her 
presence against her wishes," Honora protested quickly. 

Bernard smiled again. 

"If I know Julian," he said, "he will not ask you 
to allow anything." 

And this was indeed what came to pass. Julian 
accepted Cecily's decision without remonstrance, and 
with a quietness which perhaps surprised that young 
lady, although she made no comment upon it. Mean- 
while nature continued her wonderful work of restora- 
tion in the vigorous young physique. But presently 
doctors, nurses, and above all Honora, noted a change 

[3ii] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

in the patient. The mysterious spring of life and energy 
already alluded to, which for a time had risen so high, 
sank down again without apparent cause; and there 
followed a condition of listlessness, of physical and 
mental depression, from which nothing was powerful 
enough to rouse the girl. Prescriptions and tonics of 
all kinds were tried without effect, and at last — 

"The depression is more mental than physical; 
or, rather, the physical condition is the result of mental 
depression," the doctor in charge of the case said to 
Honora. "Is there no way of rousing her? Has she 
no interests in life?" 

Honora looked at him with startled eyes. It had 
not occurred to her before that Cecily had no interests 
in life which were not wiped out of existence by the 
present tragical situation. 

"I — I hardly think that she has any strong enough 
to rouse her," she answered. "You see, she is very 
young, and she thought only of pleasure and — and of 
amusing herself — " 

The doctor nodded. 

"I see," he commented dryly, for the case was 
common enough. "It's a pity that she hasn't some 
resources — something that she — er — cares for, outside 
of pleasure and amusement. But of course we must 
take things as we find them. If there's no mental 
stimulant which can be applied, then we must simply 
go on with the tonics, try keeping her outdoors as 
much as possible, and after a while perhaps change 
of air—" 

What more he said Honora did not hear, but she 
did not probably betray her inattention; for she 
presently found herself alone, staring at a prescription 

{312 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

in her hand, and wondering where she was to find the 
mental stimulant of which Cecily stood in so much 
need, — Cecily whose life lay before her in ruins, the 
extent of which she did not yet know. And while she 
was still asking herself this question, and still staring 
with unseeing eyes at the hieroglyphics scribbled on 
the paper in her hand, a familiar voice suddenly spoke 
at her side. 

"Forgive me for intruding!" it said. And then, 
as she started violently: "Oh, I am sorry to have 
startled you so much!" 

She turned to look into Julian Page's eager, 
apologetic face. 

"I am so sorry!" he repeated; and she smiled 
tremulously as she held out her hand to him. 

"Never mind!" she said. "I am, as I heard Mrs. 
Kemp say the other day, ' as nervous as a cat ' ; and if 
one's nerves are all on edge, one is naturally startled 
by even so simple a thing as an unexpected voice. 
I — I didn't hear you come in." 

"Of course you didn't." He was still eagerly self- 
reproachful. "It was very inconsiderate of me, but I 
came in without announcement of any kind. The fact 
is, I met Dr. Brent just as he was getting into his 
car, and I made him stop and tell me about Cecily. 
And what he told me sent me in such hot haste to 
you that I rushed in without any formalities of door 
bells or servants, being only afraid of not finding 
you." 

"Ah, he told you about Cecily! And what exactly 
did he tell you?" 

"I understood him to say that it was what he 
had just been telling you: that her injuries are getting 

[313 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

on satisfactorily, but that her general condition is not 
satisfactory at all. He says that her vitality is at a 
very low ebb, — that it is impossible to rouse her to 
interest in anything." 

"Yes, that is what he said," Honora assented. 
"And I didn't need for him to say it: I see it every 
day with my own eyes. She is going down, rather 
than coming up, in physical strength; and it's because 
she is realizing now, as she didn't realize at first, what 
has happened to her. At first she was too glad and 
grateful to be alive to think of the future; but she is 
thinking of it now, and she sees it — my poor Cecily! — 
empty of everything on earth for which she ever cared. 
She doesn't know yet" (Honora's eyes were full of 
passionate pain as she gazed at him "all that she has 
lost; but she knows enough to take away the will 
to live, and without that she can't get well." 

"No, sht can't get well without that," Julian agreed. 
"The doctor says that what she stands most in need 
of is a mental stimulant." 

"So he told me. But where" (Honora flung out 
her hands despairingly) — -"where, in the name of 
Heaven, am I to find a mental stimulant for her?" 

"Suppose," the young man said quietly, "that you 
try meV 

"You!" She stared at him blankly for a moment; 
and then, as his meaning flashed upon her, she cried: 
"Oh, do you think it possible that you could prove 
the stimulant she needs?" 

"At least I should be better than none," he replied 
modestly. "And it would do no harm to make the 
experiment." 

"I am not sure of that. You know she has refused 
to see you." f *\a ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

He nodded. "I know. And really — if you'll pardon 
me for saying so — that fact ought to have told you 
that I was the stimulant she needed. If Cecily were 
indifferent to me, do you think she would care whether 
or not she saw me, whether or not I found her beauty 
gone? It's because she is not indifferent, because she 
does care, that she is afraid to take the risk. I've felt 
so sure of that, that I thought I could afford to wait. 
But I see now it was a mistake, and that's what I 
rushed in to tell you as soon as the doctor left. Give 
me a chance to see her and stimulate her interest in 
life again." 

A little later, two guilty conspirators stole softly 
upstairs; and one paused with a fast-beating heart 
outside Cecily's room, while the other entered, and 
called the nurse, who was elaborately engaged in 
doing nothing, into a dressing-room which adjoined 
the large, airy chamber. The sound of the closing 
door between the two apartments was the signal agreed 
upon; and the next moment Julian stepped boldly 
within the room, and saw Cecily for the first time since 
he had helped to bring her, shattered and unconscious, 
from the wreck of the automobile. 

With that ghastly picture in his memory, he could 
hardly credit the evidence of his eyes when they fell 
upon her now. She was lying on a low, broad couch 
beside the open window, beyond which were a balcony, 
the whispering boughs of trees, their greenness shot 
through with golden sunshine, and glimpses of a sky 
as blue as sapphire. Against this background the 
slender figure lay with the grace that was inalienable 
to it, despite the immobility of the plaster-encased 

[3i5] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

limbs, over which a silken coverlet was thrown. A 
boudoir cap covered the head, from which he knew 
that the glorious hair had been ruthlessly shorn to 
ascertain the extent of the injuries which had barely 
escaped fracture of the skull. It was the absence of 
the hair perhaps, together with the close-drawn cap 
about the thin, white, chiselled face, across one side 
of which there were still long strips of surgeon's plaster, 
which made him feel as if he were looking at a new 
Cecily, — a Cecily whom he had never seen before, with 
something strangely virginal, remote, and almost nun- 
like in her aspect, as she lay in her soft white draperies, 
gazing with wide eyes out of the window at the depths 
of green foliage and the jewel-like sky beyond. 

He crossed the floor with a light, quick step, and 
knelt down beside her before she was aware of his 
presence. Then she turned her eyes upon him, and 
he felt her quiver a little as she uttered a low cry. 

"Julian!" she exclaimed; and, while he lifted her 
hand and kissed it, she added with a catch in her breath : 
"Don't you know — haven't you heard — that I said I 
would not see you?" 

"Oh, yes, I heard it!" he replied. "But you didn't 
think I would accept that decision, did you?" 

"You had no right to disregard it," she said; but 
he felt that there was no anger in her tone, and this 
emboldened him further. 

"I had the best right in the world," he answered, — 
"the right of love; and you know it, Cecily, — you 
know it." 

She shook her head, while her eyes — so large and 
brilliant in the wasted face — met his own steadily. 

"I don't know it," she said. "Even if it were true, 

[316] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

your love alone wouldn't give you such a right — " 

"What do you mean by saying 'if it were true'?" 
he interrupted. "You dare not doubt my love for you. 
I don't think any man could ever have expressed his 
love more forcibly and more frequently than I have 
done." 

'You expressed it forcibly and frequently enough," 
she assented; "but that was to another person — a 
very different person from the poor wreck who is lying 
here—" 

"Cecily!" 

"Oh, hush, hush!" she cried. "Don't make protes- 
tations which can't be true. You are an artist: you 
were in love with my beauty, and the beauty is gone. 
Therefore, of course, the love is gone too. No doubt 
some pity remains, but I don't want that. I told 
Honora so, and she should not have let you come. It 
was a great mistake; and, if you are kind, you will 
go away now at once." 

"I am not kind at all, if my kindness is to be 
measured by my obeying such a request as that," he 
replied. "If I went away, I should seem to be assenting 
to the preposterous statement that because I am an 
artist and because you are beautiful — " 

"Were beautiful," she corrected. 

"Very well, in order to avoid argument, we'll say 
because you were beautiful, — I could have loved you 
only for your beauty. Now, you know, talking of 
rights, you haven't the faintest right to make such 
an assumption as that: and I beg to tell you, on my 
honor as a man, that it is as far as possible from the 
truth. P may have had some such fancy myself, while 
I was painting your portrait and adoring it; though 

[3i7] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

even then, if I had stopped to analyze my feelings, I 
should have known better; for I have learned long 
since how devoid of any lasting power to attract, soulless 
and mindless beauty is. But when the shock of tragedy 
came, when I went down into the depths, and in spirit 
faced death with you, I found that I loved with my 
whole heart yourself, the woman who appealed to me 
irresistibly, whether a shred of your beauty remained 
or not." 

The lovely eyes opened wider still as she gazed at 
him. 

"But how could that be," she asked with struggling 
incredulity, "when I had never showed you anything, 
any quality that was worthy of love? I have been 
thinking about that as I lay here — I've had a great 
deal of time in which to think, you know, — and it 
seems to me that I have never known or heard of a 
more repulsive character than the one I showed to you; 
and I took pains to show no other." 

"You certainly did your best or worst to make 
me think that loving you was hopeless," he agreed; 
"but perhaps it was because you painted yourself too 
darkly that I didn't believe it all. I was sure you were 
not so selfish and worldly as you professed to be — " 

"There's where you are mistaken," she interrupted 
sharply. "All that I professed to be I was. If you 
don't believe that, you will never understand me. 
Everything I said I intended to do I would have done. 
I would have put you aside, and used Honora ruth- 
lessly, and gone my way into the world to gratify my 
vanity and ambition, if — if God had not thrown me 
down and broken me to pieces. You must never doubt 
that, Julian,- — never!" 

[318] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"If you insist upon it, I will not doubt it," he 
responded, "any more than I doubt that you were all 
the time fighting your better self." 

"I did not know," she cried, "that I had a better 
self!" 

He kissed again the frail hand he had been holding. 

"You know it now," he said. "You found it out 
in the dark depths where you have been, and where, 
as I told you a moment ago, I have been with you. 
We've both learned things there that we can never 
forget, Cecily; and one of them is that we have need 
of each other." 

"You have no need of me," she still protested; 
"for what can I do, or be to you, except a burden?" 

"Even as a burden, you would be more desirable 
than anybody or anything else on earth," he answered 
with a sincerity she could not doubt. "But you will 
not be a burden. You are going to get well, and be 
your own vigorous, beautiful self again." 

"You are dreaming," she told him. "I shall be 
a cripple and disfigured — " 

"You will be neither," he asserted positively. 
"But it would make no difference if you were; for it 
is love alone that matters, and you can't deny that 
we have that." 

It was Cecily's own smile that for the first time 
came over her face like a gleam of sunshine, as she 
answered : 

"You take a great deal for granted; but I'm afraid 
I can't — denv it." 



319 ] 



XXIV. 

AND now," Honora said to Bernard, "the time 
has come for the final steps to be taken. I 
must tell Cecily first (I think she is able to bear 
it now), and then I must tell Mr. Maxwell that I have 
no longer any right to hold Mr. Chisholm's fortune. 
And then — then I can enter the Church, with empty 
hands, but, oh, such a grateful heart ! For I am grateful 
not only for the gift of faith — which is above every- 
thing else, — but for the wonderful manner in which 
the way has been opened and made easy to me. I 
could never have dreamed that it would have been made 
so easy at last." 

"What you lacked was trust in God," Bernard 
replied, smiling at her. "I grant that it would have 
required an heroic degree of trust and faith to fling 
everything aside and answer His call when you heard 
it first. And so it was made easier for you. But it is 
hard enough yet. Do you think I don't know that? 
Do you think I don't realize what is before you in 
telling Cecily?" 

"It will be hard," Honora admitted; "but it can 
not be deferred; for, as she grows stronger, she is 
beginning to make plans, all of which depend for their 
fulfilment on the possession of money. She will not 
understand, poor Cecily. But she will not suffer as 
she would have suffered a little while ago; and for 

[320] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

that I can never be grateful enough to Julian Page." 
"While, odd as it may seem, Julian on his part is 
intensely grateful to you," Bernard told her; "for he 
feels that you have given him a chance to restore 
Cecily's faith in the possibility of disinterestedness in 
a man's love, such as he could never have found or 
made for himself. She must have said something 
in the past which proved her deep scepticism on this 
point; for his first exclamation, when he heard what 
you intended to do, was of pleasure approaching to 
exultation." 

"He expressed something of the same kind to me 
when I told him that I was sorry I had forgotten to 
warn him of the impending change in Cecily's circum- 
stances. 'You paid me the compliment of realizing 
that it is of no importance to me in one point of view,' 
he said, ' and of such great importance in another that 
I am very glad it is to occur.'" 

"And did that sentiment surprise you?" 
"No," she answered; "for I know the people he 
comes of; and I also know how vehemently Cecily 
declared her own worldliness, and her cynical dis- 
belief in anything but self-interest ruling anybody, 
which she learned in an atmosphere where money is 
supreme." 

"No wonder he was glad of a chance to shatter 
that belief once for all, and that he goes about in these 
days with the air of a conqueror." Bernard paused for 
a moment, and then, "I'm quite sure," he went on, 
"that Julian has been entirely reticent on the subject 
of your resolution to enter the Church; but it seems 
that an inkling of the matter has in some manner 
got abroad. Miss Rainesford tells me that people 

[321 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

are talking, are wondering what you mean to do, — 
how you can reconcile your relations with me, and 
your visits to the church here, with the condition on 
which my uncle left his fortune to you. I think it well 
that you should know this." 

"It is well that I should," she replied quickly; 
"for it proves what I said a moment ago — that the 
time has come for me to act; that I am now in a false 
position, which, for your sake as well as for my own, 
must be ended. People must learn that we are not 
trying to evade your uncle's condition." 

"Never mind about me," he said. "I am well inured 
to being an object of reprobation, mingled with pitying 
contempt; and I shall of course be held accountable 
for your conversion. We must expect that." 

"But I shall tell everyone to the contrary!" she 
cried. "I shall make people understand that, instead 
of trying to make me a Catholic, you really — " 

"Don't say that I tried to prevent your becoming 
one," he interrupted, with a laugh. "It wasn't quite 
as bad as that, you know." 

"It was quite as bad as that," she said decidedly. 
"You were so afraid of putting me in a difficult position, 
you were so sure that I would not have strength for 
the sacrifice demanded, that you avoided the subject; 
you would tell me nothing. . . . Oh, I am not saying 
that you were not quite right in your opinion! But 
there is the fact that you made not the least effort to 
convert me, except — " 

"Yes?" 

"Except by what you did not say, if you can under- 
stand me. I felt all the time that you possessed some- 
thing which you did not think I was worthy of being 
shown — " [ 322 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

"Oh, no, no, not that!" 

"Just that— or, at least, so I felt. And it angered 
me that you would not tell me things which, uncon- 
sciously to myself, I longed so much to know. . . . Oh, 
don't look so sorry! There is nothing to be sorry about. 
You were quite right in your attitude. The more I 
had known, the worse it would have been for me, 
since I do not think anything could have made me 
yield except what happened. And then — well, then 
you were everything to me." 

"Thank God for that!" he said, as he kissed the 
hand she held out to him. 

The task from which Honora shrank — of informing 
Cecily of what lay before her — proved, however, less 
difficult than she feared; for she had not reckoned 
upon Cecily's keenness of perception. 

"You have something to tell me?" the latter re- 
marked, when, gathering the necessary courage, Honora 
sat down beside her couch in the summer dusk, and 
hesitatingly began to open the way for explanation. 
"But perhaps I can spare you the telling; for I have 
not been altogether blind and deaf, in spite of my 
condition. You and Bernard are in love with each 
other, and you are going to marry him." 

"Some day perhaps — when you are quite well again, 
and able to make a home for yourself," Honora answered. 
"But, Cecily, that is not all. I — I am going to take 
another step which can not be longer delayed." 

"Ah!" It was a sharp exclamation, but not alto- 
gether of surprise. "You intend to become a Catholic? " 

"My dear, yes! But how have you guessed it?" 

"By instinct, I suppose," Cecily answered, — "just 
as one has sometimes an intuition of a danger before 

[323] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

it comes. I haven't had much to go upon, but I felt — 
oh, for some time before I went away — that you were 
attracted, not only by Bernard but by Bernard's 
religion. I did not like to acknowledge it even to 
myself, but I was afraid of this attraction. And that 
was one reason why I determined that we must go 
abroad. I felt that I couldn't trust you to resist — that 
I must take things in hand and save you from yourself. 
But I haven't made a very brilliant success of it, after 
all; have I?" 

The penetrating bitterness of the last words made 
Honora suddenly fall upon her knees and put her arms 
about the slender, immobile figure. 

"My dearest," she said, "we were both fighting 
against God for the same end, and we couldn't succeed! 
He was merciful enough not to allow us to order things 
as we wanted, for it would have meant — O Cecily, I 
see so clearly now that it would have meant the ruin 
of us both! And I think that you must see it, too." 

"No" (Cecily had no intention of admitting so 
much as this), "I don't see why it should necessarily 
have meant our ruin. That seems to me a very extrav- 
agant way of putting the matter. Of course I grant that 
I should have become dreadfully worldly, having a 
pronounced inclination that way; and that you 
probably wouldn't have been happy — " 

"I should have been absolutely miserable." 

"Well, in that case I'll admit that things are better 
as they are, though it has certainly been at a terrible 
cost." 

"Terrible to you, my poor darling, who have had 
to suffer for my weakness and cowardice!" 

"That," Cecily stated, "I regard as nonsense. I 

[324] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

understand, however, that you were preparing to 
sacrifice yourself for me in a more complete sense 
than I had any idea of; and, therefore, it is much more 
likely that I am suffering for my selfishness than for 
your weakness, if you insist upon reading some such 
meaning into the suffering." 

"I am quite certain that the meaning is there." 

"It may be," Cecily sighed, — and the sigh may 
be forgiven her, since it is hard for human nature to 
recognize the good hidden under suffering. "But if 
you are going to become a Catholic, what will you do 
about your fortune?" 

"It will not be my fortune any longer," Honora 
answered quietly. "I must give it up." 

"But how can you do that? We shall have — 
nothing." 

"O Cecily, do you think I have not thought of 
that, and gone down into the depths of agony over it? 
But I gave up the struggle when I heard that you were 
dying. I went into the presence of God and solemnly 
promised that, if you were spared, I would even accept 
poverty for you. I promised to make the sacrifice I 
had thought I could never make, and He spared you. 
And now what kind of a traitor should I be if I did not 
keep my promise?" 

"So that was it!" Cecily murmured, as if to herself. 
She turned her eyes to the blue sky beyond the window 
by which she lay, with the introspective gaze of one 
who has a sudden illumination upon some mystery 
of the past. There was silence for a moment, and 
then, "I had an instinct of something of that kind, 
too," she went on slowly. "It was very strange. I 
didn't know how much was imagination, and I've 

[325 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

fancied since that perhaps it was all so; but you 
remember I told you how I was conscious of calling 
on you for help?" 

"I remember," Honora said in a low tone; "and 
I felt the call, — God let me feel it in a way not to be 
mistaken." 

"Well, I felt that you knew and that you were 
helping me. I didn't know, or even ask, how you 
possibly could help me — I was too far gone even to 
wonder over that, — but I just had an assurance of it, 
as if you had put your hand in mine, and there came 
a great sense of relief and safety, and — and that was 
all till I waked up and saw you." 

"O Cecily!" Honora's head went down on the 
pillow beside the pale face which lay there, and for 
a little while only her tears could speak for her further. 

At length it was Cecily who said, with another 
long sigh: 

"It seems very strange that the fortune should 
have come to you just in order that you might give it 
up. And — and it would be very hard, if it were not 
that I know you and Bernard will be happy; and I 
don't believe that Julian will mind very much when 
he hears that I am poor, as well as helpless and 
disfigured — " 

Honora raised her head quickly. 

"My darling, Julian knows!" she said. "He knew 
before he came and insisted on seeing you. Bernard 
had told him; and he was very glad, because he said 
that then you would believe — " 

"Oh, hush, hush!" Cecily cried. "Don't make me 
feel too utterly contemptible. But I am glad, too, — 
glad that he knew, and that I didn't know, what you 

[326] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 
are going to do, before I answered him as I did." 

It is almost unnecessary to state that Kingsford 
was shaken from centre to circumference by a shock 
such as it had never known before when vague gossip 
and faint surmise gave place to the authoritative 
information that Honora Trezevant was about to lay 
down her rich inheritance, and return to the poverty 
from which it had lifted her, in order to enter the 
Catholic Church. Even Bernard Chisholm's conver- 
sion had made no such sensation; for the circumstances 
in his case had not been half so dramatic, nor the 
sacrifice nearly so great. It had been wonderful enough 
to see a young man renounce a fortune in order to 
embrace an unpopular religion; but it was well known 
that he was not reduced to poverty by his choice, and 
also that he had abilities which would enable him 
to make a career for himself without such assistance. 
But with Honora the situation was altogether diflerent. 
Here was a girl who knew the full bitterness which 
poverty carries for the well-born and gently bred; 
who had tasted the ineffable relief which comes from 
ease of circumstances, from wealth and the power 
wealth brings; and who had not only herself to con- 
sider in laying down this wealth, but a sister filled with 
worldly ambitions, and who was now tragically crippled 
and helpless. Reflecting upon these things, people 
could only gaze at each other in speechless amazement. 
Comment was manifestly inadequate; for no one felt 
able to account for an action to which none of the 
ordinary rules governing human conduct could be 
applied. 

"Is she insane?" a few tentatively inquired; only 

[327] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

to be met by the positive assurance from those who 
knew her best, "No more insane than you or I." 

Explanation of some kind had to be forthcoming, 
however, — since no one was, of course, so utterly 
foolish as to admit the compelling nature of the claims 
of the Church. And, as was to be expected, this 
explanation was found in the influence which Bernard 
Chisholm was supposed to have exerted to convert 
Honora. Opinion with regard to his motives was much 
divided; but there was almost unanimous consensus 
on the point that his conduct was quite indefensible, 
and that it was an altogether shameful thing to have 
taken advantage of the poor girl's infatuation for him 
to make her renounce her fortune by embracing the 
Catholic Faith. 

"There's no good in telling them that Bernard 
has done nothing of the kind," Julian Page said indig- 
nantly to Edith Selwyn; "so I've ceased to discuss the 
subject. It only makes me lose my temper. How people 
can be such infernal idiots passes my comprehension." 

"Oh, I don't think there's much difficulty in com- 
prehending that!" Edith replied. "They are obliged 
to explain the matter on the only ground they can 
understand. And there's the undeniable fact that 
Honora and Bernard are in love with each other." 

"But they will both tell you that that was not what 
made her a Catholic." 

"No doubt they will tell you so, and no doubt 
they both believe it," Edith conceded. "But do you 
really think that Honora would have made the tre- 
mendous sacrifice and become a Catholic but for 
Bernard's example and influence. I can't think so. I 
won't talk about 'infatuation,' as people are foolishly 

[328] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

talking; but I am sure that she is very impressionable, 
and that, whether he meant to do so or not, he influ- 
enced her tremendously. Why, what else could make 
her do such a thing as this?" 

And in the face of that question Julian was dumb; 
for he felt that Edith had unconsciously spoken of 
herself, as well as of others, when she said that it was 
necessary for people to explain such an action on 
the only ground they could understand. And the 
claims of human love, the influence of human example, 
were comprehensible; while the claims of divine truth 
upon the conscience, and the compelling influence of 
divine love upon the heart, are things which have 
passed out of the range even of the imagination of 
those who have been taught that religion is a matter 
purely of personal choice and fancy. It spoke well for 
Julian's own imagination that he was able to grasp 
another point of view; but an instinct told him that to 
press it would be useless. 

Meanwhile Honora had seen Mr. Maxwell, and 
astounded that worthy man by the announcement 
of her purpose. He was, indeed, amazed to the point 
of incredulity. 

"Good Heavens!" he ejaculated, as he leaned back 
in his chair and stared at her. "Do you mean to tell 
me that you are really going to become a Roman 
Catholic, when you know what the step in your case 
entails?" 

She smiled charmingly as she returned his gaze. 

"Yes, dear Mr. Maxwell," she said, "that is what 
I really mean to tell you. I know you are surprised — " 

"Surprised is no word for it," he interrupted. "I 

[3*9] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

am simply confounded. And I can't believe you appre- 
ciate what you are proposing to do. It — it is incredible ! ' ' 

"It should not be incredible to you," she reminded 
him, "since you have seen it done before." 

"That's the worst of it!" he cried sharply. "One 
such act of folly was bad enough; but when it has 
led to another — for I can't think that you would have 
dreamed of such a step as this but for Bernard Chisholm, 
who seems to have become a perfect fanatic with 
regard to his religion!" 

"So far from that," Honora assured him earnestly, 
"Bernard has never, from first to last, made an effort 
for my conversion. If I must tell you the truth, it 
was I who tried to convert him back to Protestantism, 
and who for this reason forced the discussion of the 
subject on him. Do you remember the letter which 
Mr. Chisholm left for me? Yes, I see that you do. 
Well, the injunction laid on me in that letter was to 
employ every means in my power to induce Bernard 
to give up his religion. And, in return for the fortune 
left me, I felt bound to obey that injunction." 

"One moment, please!" The lawyer was staring 
at her as if a light were breaking on him. "Was that 
why you were so anxious to keep Bernard here; and 
why you did not seem to regard the property as your 
own?" 

"I have never felt as if it were my own," she an- 
swered simply. " It was left to me for a specific purpose, 
which I soon realized that it was impossible for me to 
fulfil; and which, after a little while, I had not even 
any desire to fulfil. And, this being so, I would have 
given it up some time ago but for the thought of my 
sister. I could not face the necessity of casting her 

[33o] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

back into poverty. But it has been made clear to me 
that I had no right to hesitate on that account, — that 
I would be doing her more harm than good. And, 
therefore, I am here to tell you that I have no longer 
any right to hold Mr. Chisholm's fortune, since I can 
not fulfil the conditions on which he gave it to me." 

"You know," he reminded her, "that, so far as the 
letter of which you have spoken and the injunctions 
in it are concerned, they are not binding upon you 
in any legal sense whatever." 

"But that I should not become a Catholic is binding 
in a legal sense, is it not?" 

"Mr. Chisholm certainly meant to make it so," 
the lawyer admitted. "He was very much of a bigot — 
my poor old friend! — and extremely anxious that his 
money should not come into Catholic hands." 

Honora opened her own hands, as if to show that 
they were empty. 

"That being so," she said, "neither Bernard nor 
I would keep it, if the law gave it to us; and we shall 
certainly make no effort to evade the condition of 
inheritance. I am about to become a Catholic; and, 
therefore, you, as executor of the will, must take the 
estate and do with it whatever Mr. Chisholm has 
directed to be done in such an event." 

"Have you no idea what that is?" he asked, looking 
at her keenly. 

She shook her head. 

"Not the least. I know that the will speaks of a 
letter of instruction for the executor, in case of certain 
contingencies arising; but I have felt no curiosity 
about it, since it did not concern me." 

Mr. Maxwell cleared his throat as if he found a 

[33i ] 



THE vSECRET BEQUEST 

little difficulty in answering for a moment. Then — 
"It does concern you, indirectly at least, very 
much," he said. "Mr. Chisholm has left a list of the 
heirs to whom, in due order of inheritance, he desires 
that, in such a contingency as a conversion to the 
Catholic Church, his estate shall pass. The name 
which follows your own is that of Julian Page. Mr. 
Chisholm had always a great liking for that young man." 
"Julian Page!" Honora gasped, while her wide 
eyes grew brilliant with incredulous joy. "Oh, surely 
God is good! And to think that I did not trust Him!" 

'Yes, God was indeed good when He ordered all 
that has come to pass," Bernard agreed with her a 
little later. "You were given the opportunity to make 
a great sacrifice; and, having made it — " 

"I am not only spared all the result of it for Cecily 
that I dreaded, but I am rewarded far beyond anything 
that I deserve," she interrupted. "For this is what I 
would have desired above all things — that Julian 
should have the fortune. And yet I never once thought 
of it as possible." 

"Nor I," Bernard said; "but I see now that he was 
always a possibility in my uncle's mind. I think that, 
failing me, he would have made him his heir at once, 
if the remembrance of you had not occurred to him, and 
if he had not discerned a hope of influencing me through 
you. Strange, isn't it, how that hope of his has worked 
out, and how he has been the instrument to bring our 
lives together in a way he could never have foreseen? 
And this reminds me, — isn't it time that you should 
tell me all that he wrote in that letter of his to you?" 

For answer she rose, went to her desk, and after 

[332 ] 



THE SECRET BEQUEST 

a moment came back with the letter in her hand, — 
the letter with whose contents she was so familiar. 

"Here it is," she said; "and I am sure you will 
find it as pathetic as I do, and will feel more than ever 
how much we owe to him, though not exactly in the 
manner he intended." 

But, although she said this, slie was not prepared 
for the deep emotion which Bernard's face showed when 
he looked up presently from the last lines of the letter. 

"Poor, dear Uncle Alexander!" he said. "May 
God pardon his ignorance, and give him the satisfaction 
of knowing the happiness we have found in each other, 
and in the Faith he now surely understands!" 



[333] 



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